Jaded
by yabooklover
Summary: After a strain of negative life experiences, 18 yr old Tris has been suffering with anxiety, and the only person she talks to is her eccentric best friend Lynn. Things will start to shake up when Tris' mother decides she needs more social interaction, introducing her to the mysterious, and older man 'Four'. However, life always seems to get worse before it gets better. Modern day.
1. Jaded

****Disclaimer: I do not own Divergent or any of its characters, all rights belong to Veronica Roth. ****

****I do own the ideas behind Jaded and the main plot events and original characters. ****

**This story isn't set in the Divergent world, I'm just borrowing the characters and placing them in modern day Chicago. **

**'Jaded' contains adult themes, strong language, alcohol abuse, and light recreational drug use. Therefore, is rated M for mature audiences only. **

* * *

August 1st

I was 26 days shy of my eighteenth birthday when my mother told me that I needed 'help'. I asked her for her definition of 'help', to which she responded with "help from real people, none of that therapist crap."

My anxiety began when I was fifteen years old. It's common, but detrimental at the same time. At first, I was certain that I was going crazy: waking up every morning and feeling nauseous before I went to school, dizzy spells, strange appetite. My mother on the other hand, just thought that I was pregnant. So, the doctors gave me drugs which numbed the pain. In fact, they numbed _me_ all together. My anxiety riddled thoughts and actions have lessened a great deal since then, but it still lingers. Lingers like an annoying cough that you can never get rid of. Or like a buzzing fly still trapped in the house even though all the windows are wide open. My mother tells me on a daily basis that I just need to get over what happened, and that I'm spiralling into depression. But, I assured her that I definitely wasn't depressed, because my friend Lynn is depressed and I am no where near as pessimistic as she is. She wasn't convinced.

One might ask _why_. _Why_ do I feel this way? _W__hy_ do I struggle to get out of bed in the mornings? Well, it all started when I was fourteen. My mother is a hopeless romantic who wears her heart on her sleeve, dives head first into relationships, says 'I love you' after a couple of weeks, and needs the reassuring and constant loving affection of a man to keep her happy. So, she met a man and fell in love with him. Perfect, right? Wrong. I knew there was something wrong with this man the first time I saw him collapsed in a puddle of vodka outside our front porch. Did she think there was something wrong with this? Of course not. So, unsurprisingly, she ignored my remarks that he was no good for her and decided to marry him one short year later. We moved away from my home town of Chicago and began our own personal form of hell. The drinking got worse, and so did his anger issues. Let's just say the police got involved, and one messy divorce and restraining order later…we're back in Chicago. You'd think that now we're back here, everything would be fine again. But somehow it's not. To outsiders, it looks like nothing ever happened. But in reality, the girl that left Chicago never came back. This girl, the one that's sat here right now, has a crushed self-esteem and the impressive life knowledge that only means I had to grow up too quickly. So I guess you could say that now, that's all there is to me. My name is Tris, and I fear that I have become infected with the evil of the world.

-.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.-

"Tris?" My mother's too-chirpy-for-this-time-of-day voice rings out from the bottom of the stairs.

"What?" I barely yell, slamming the lid of my laptop shut.

"We need to go now or else we'll be late!"

God forbid we be late for dinner at a friends house. In one of my mother's many efforts to get me out of my bedroom or off the phone with Lynn, we're going to visit some old family friends. And when I say old, I mean _old_. Not in age, but we haven't seen them since my parents were together, which means that I don't even remember what they look like. Our family 'friends' have a son, and in one of my mother's weak attempts at finding me un-wanted friends, she asked if he would tutor me. Yeah, you read that correctly. _Tutor me._ I have finished school now, but I didn't pass math. I'm not planning on going to college, I just want to get a job. But in order to get a job, I have to be good at math…or so my mother thinks. Although, I'm starting to believe that she doesn't really think this. I'm betting she just wants an excuse for me and this boy to get to know one another. She told me that if I comply, then I can continue to live with her, rent-free. So naturally, I obliged.

My mother and I hop into our run-down car and begin the extremely short journey to our 'family friends' house. I'm just about to crank the volume up on the radio when my phone starts to vibrate in my pocket. A smile grows across my face when I see it's Lynn calling, and I hold the phone up to my ear.

"What's up?" I ask.

"My place, tonight."

"To do what?"

"Man, I don't even know right now. My head feels like it's gonna explode. Lets go fuckin' stargazing or something."

"Stargazing? In the city? Have you gone mad?"

"Okay, maybe not. Lets rent a crappy movie instead," she says. My best friend Lynn is my only friend. She dresses like a hippy, smokes like a hippy, talks like a hippy, but she sure as hell didn't always act like one. She constantly attempts to, though, which I guess is why she just suggested the ridiculous idea of stargazing in the midst of a light polluted Chicago. I've got to hand it to her, she does _not_ follow the crowd. Even though she's not exactly a hippy, or a hipster, or an emo kid, or straight, or gay...she's definitely an alternative, 'artistic being' (or so my mother says). She's one of those people that, even if you wanted to put a label on her, you couldn't. Which I admire, since labels can be problematic.

"Dude, are you still there?" Lynn drones on.

"Shit sorry, just day dreaming."

"Yeah, you tend to do that a lot. Anyway, gotta go and do…nothing. I'll catch you later."

I was about to reply and say "Later" but she had already hung up on me. So I return my phone to its place in my back pocket and continue to stare ahead at the scenery whizzing by as we drive.

"You know, I really wish you wouldn't swear like that in front of me," my mother chimes in.

"You know, I really wish you wouldn't eavesdrop," my sarcastic remark shuts her up and causes her mouth to press into a straight line.

Finally, after what feels like hours later (but was only minutes) we arrive at our desired destination. Or, my mother's desired destination for that matter. I would probably give an arm and a leg not to be here right now. We both stroll past the perfectly trimmed circular bushes and up the jet washed path to come face to face with a freshly painted and glossed red door. My mother grasps the polished brass knocker and bangs it lightly against the door three times. We aren't left to stand for a few seconds before it swings open and I am hit in the face with the smell of freshly baked cookies like a brick wall.

"Marcus! It's been far too long," she steps up to the tired looking man in the doorway and shakes his hand.

"Natalie, a pleasure to see you again. This is my wife, Sarah." Marcus gestures to a sophisticated looking blonde woman stood besides him, who looks like she belongs in a magazine that advertises tupperware and cutlery.

"Hello Sarah, it's nice to meet you," my mother extends her hand, and the blonde woman snakes her pale thin hand into hers.

"It's lovely to meet you too Natalie. I have heard so much about you. And I've heard much about you too, Tris." Her voice is soft and timid, she was either brought up in a well-to-do household or it took years to master. "Please, come inside and let's make ourselves a drink!"

I feel like I'm in a boring colour-remastered movie, recreating the gladly long-lost ages of the fifties. Filled with repressed women, immaculate houses and only alcohol to drown your picture perfect sorrows. We're all crowded in the little hallway whilst Sarah runs into the kitchen, and returns carrying a tray with small beverage filled glasses. I am about to take a glass of who knows what off the tray when I hear someone coming down the stairs. At first, all I register are the sneakers, well fitted jeans and tight black t-shirt. Then I look up to see a bronze face, topped with deep drown hair and dominating ocean blue eyes. Not the colour of the ocean that you see on postcard's from the Bahalmas. This is the kind of blue that's only found deep in the Atlantic ocean. I manage to pull my eyes away before my three second gaze becomes classed as staring.

"Oh there you are dear," Sarah's voice drags me back to my less promising reality. "Natalie, I'm sure you remember this charming young man. Tris, this is-"

"Hello, my name is Four." The captivating boy interrupts Sarah's sentence, smiling at me in greeting. His smile is easy and comfortable, not an over-exuberant grin. I dislike it when people smile like they've won the lottery when they first meet you, since I can't imagine anyone truly being that happy to meet a stranger.

"Tris," I reply and nod my head casually. I have mastered the art of 'keeping my cool' from Lynn, which I am now all of a sudden incredibly thankful for.

"Why don't you two get started upstairs so us adults can catch up?" Marcus asks. 1) I don't think he realised how the phrase 'get started upstairs' could be drastically misinterpreted, and 2) I strongly dislike the patronising phrase of 'us adults'. Nonetheless, I take on his suggestion and follow Four up the stairs.

He leads me to what I presume to be his bedroom, which is on another wave length compared to the rest of the house. It's simple, just how I like it. Very unpretentious, plain floorboards, only necessary furniture, an unmade bed and half-open blinds. Minimalist and masculine at its finest.

"I figured we could work at the desk?" He asks, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly.

"What?" I reply, maybe a little too rudely.

"The math work…" he continues, now sounding unsure of himself.

"Oh, _oh!_ Yeah, that. Well, um, you don't actually have to tutor me. It was my mom's stupid and unnecessary idea."

"Oh thank God," he laughs, "I'm not a math genius and I thought _you_ actually wanted me to help you."

"No, I failed math but I couldn't care less."

He continues to study my face for a short while, and I become increasingly uncomfortable. I'm about to make some kind of sarcastic remark but I just can't bring myself to do it to him. He sits down on his bed and gestures for me to sit in the chair, "sit down if you want, I suppose there's no point in going downstairs."

"No, I'd rather not. Your mom seems…nice."

"She's not my mom," he replies sharply, with one hell of an attitude.

"Oh, sorry."

"It's okay, I hate her too," he starts to smirk at me. _Talk about mixed signals._

"Why do you hate her?"

"Why do you ask so many questions?"

"That was the first question I asked, for your information."

"Your mom warned my dad that you could be a bit of a handful."

"I am not a handful!"

"I know you're not. I'd just say you have a stick up your ass." I was hoping the mysterious 'Four' that my mother talked about would be as nice and charming as she made out, but it so happens he's the annoying bastard I predicted him to be.

"Be a dear and pull it out for me?" I snigger.

Four rolls his eyes, and stands up from the bed, obviously too mature to play my kind of childish games. "Come on, lets go downstairs before you get too wound up."

As I follow him down the stairs I realise, of course he's too mature for all that. He's not a boy, he looks like a man.

The dinner we all ate together was strangely pleasant and quiet. And now, we bid our good byes to the Eaton household and head out the door. He watches me as we leave, arms crossed, shoulders back, expressionless. There's a part of me that hopes this is the last time I'll ever come face-to-face with his intimidating self, but I have an inkling this is the start of something else.

The drive home is fairly silent, and I ask my mother to drop me off at Lynn's house. When we arrive, I get out the car and tell her that I'll see her in a couple of hours. Lynn, who is already sat on the front porch, greets me with a bear hug. Although she's too skinny to give someone a proper bear hug, so it's more like being hugged by two lines of rope. Strangely enough, she's dressed in an aztec patterned dress. Her brown hair which is shaved on one side is braided, showing off her ears which are pierced from top to bottom. The sleeveless dress shows off a lot of her tattoos. They're jet black and very random. Mostly they're quite small, consisting of different shapes and patterns and words written out in fancy lettering.

"Lynn, are you wearing a dress?" I ask in amazement, her usual wardrobe consists of jeans of all varieties, teamed with thrift-store logo t-shirts and cropped tops.

"Yeah, you know Marlene likes it when I wear stuff like this," she says shyly. The only time Lynn is shy is when she talks about Marlene.

"Oh, yeah I forgot," I roll my eyes, "Marlene's still the hot topic, right?"

Lynn playfully punches my arm and drags me inside up to her room. We have a movie-marathon night teamed with cold leftover pizza and soda planned, which lately seems to be the only thing we ever do.

"Dude, you smell like a dude!" Lynn says, when we're both leaning on each other on her tiny bed.

"Thanks, I think…"

"Either you've decided to buy some cheap cologne, or you've been hanging round with someone of the opposite sex."

"I've been hanging round with someone of the opposite sex," I reply flatly.

"Well, I didn't expect that to be the answer."

"Shut up!" I laugh, shoving a piece of pizza into her mouth so that she can't say another word.

I wish Lynn didn't bring up the fact that I smell like a man, because now, all I can picture are those fascinating blue eyes. And then I become annoyed and curse his stupid name.


	2. Faction Avenue

****A/N- I do not own Divergent or any of its characters, rights go to Veronica Roth. ****

* * *

August 2nd

Having only arrived home in the early hours of this morning, I decided to sleep in until this afternoon, since it only seemed fair. Beauty sleep is an important thing, my mother even told me so. Eventually, I decided it's time to roll out of bed and slowly thud down the stairs, leaning my body heavily on the bannister the whole time. Our house is small and pretty basic, but I like it because I usually have it all to myself. My mother works as a nurse and the hospital doesn't pay her enough so she tend to take extra shifts whenever they decide to give them to her. Therefore leaving me home-alone for the majority of the time.

I pour a bowl of cereal out and sit on the breakfast counter, hood up, watching old cartoons on the television whilst I try to bring some life into my sleepless body. Suddenly, something extremely out of the ordinary happens. _The house phone rings._ This is honestly probably going to be the most unusual event of my day, since no one ever rings our house phone, ever. In fact, my mother was even going to cut it off the other day, but decided to keep it "incase of emergencies". Annoyed that I am being disrupted from my calming morning- or should I say afternoon- routine, I drop my spoon into my cereal bowl, flinching at the sharp sound of the metal clattering against the ceramic. I heave myself off the bar stool and drop down onto the floor, in order to lift the phone off its hook on the wall.

"Prior residence." I cringe at my choice of greeting.

"Hello Tris." Even though I only heard it for the first time yesterday, I could recognise that voice from a mile off.

"Good morning, Four, how can I help you?" I ask in a teasing manner.

"Well, I don't know what country you live in, but here in Chicago, it is in fact the afternoon. But I'm glad to see that you remembered my name."

"With a witty sense of humour like yours, you should be on the stage."

"How do you know I'm not a comedian?"

"I've seen your face, Four. You're the most serious person there ever was."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"Why are you ringing me, anyway?"

"I just wanted to let you know that you left your math books at my place, I wondered if you wanted to pick them up or I could drop them off-"

"Math books? I don't own any math books."

"Well, I suppose your mom brought them here then and left them in the hopes that we would continue our tutoring sessions."

I honestly can't say I'm surprised. This is typical of my mother, she probably hid them behind the couch so that when Four came across them, he would have a reason to call me. Well, I'm not going to satisfy her.

"I'll just come and pick them up whenever, thanks for calling." I hastily slam the phone back onto its hook. I hate to admit it, but there's something intriguing about Four's character. I return to my bowl of cereal in attempts of admonishing my thoughts about him. A short while later, when I've showered and returned back to my bed, I start to think. The most unusual event of my day will not be the house phone ringing. Instead, it will be the fact that Four was the person who dialled the number.

I must have fallen asleep, because I wake up to a bang that's coming from inside my bedroom. I spring up from my bed and I am about to go on a remote-control throwing rampage when I see Lynn scramble up from the floor.

"Chill out it's only me!" She shrieks.

"What are you doing climbing through my bedroom window?!" I yell back.

"You weren't answering your front door and I knew you were in here because lets face it, where else would you be? So I climbed that bush at the side of your house and _hey presto_, here I am!" She smirks and wiggles her eyebrows at me.

"One day, you are going to make the most fantastic stalker."

"I know, right? One of my many special talents," she pauses to sit next to me on the bed. "So, you just gonna sit here all day?"

"Pretty much."

"I thought I was supposed to be the one with the mood issues? Looks like you've taken my place!" I throw my pillow at her but she catches it, hitting me on the head with it instead. I laugh and begin to examine her, noticing a small but deep purple bruise on her neck underneath her jaw line.

"Lynn, is that a…" I lean my head in towards her neck and poke the bruise. "Hickey?"

She shoves my hand away "Do you mind? That hurt!"

"Who the hell gave you that?" I demand, and she lowers her head. "Marlene," I answer for her.

"Don't judge me okay?"

"B-but I thought she wasn't even gay?"

"If she wasn't gay then last night must have been one hell of a sick dream," she snickers.

"I know you two have hooked up before, but I thought she kept telling you she was straight?" The whole Marlene/Lynn situation is deathly confusing and sometimes downright irritating. Lynn has shed blood, sweat and tears for Marlene, with only a few passion-fuelled nights in return.

"Yeah she does, but when I'm with her, I don't even care."

"So, she just uses you to get her fix, and you're okay with that?"

"Well I'd rather have her for just one night than to not have her at all."

_It's not worth the argument,_ I tell myself. Usually, I just let her do as she pleases, and then I'll be there with the tissues and ice cream when her heart gets broken.

"I actually met a few people last night, and I was wondering if you wanted to come out with us later on?" Lynn says.

I avoid her question, "where did you even go to meet Marlene last night? I was at your house until past midnight."

"I texted her and she was at a house party. She asked me if I wanted to go so I said 'yeah'. There were only a few people there, and they asked me if I wanted to hang out with them sometime. So I think we should go."

"You know I hate being around big groups of people Lynn, I don't know if I'm up for it."

"Come on!" She begs me, pulling on my arm. "You've got to at least try these things. And if you don't like them, we can just go home."

"That was a stupid thing of you to say. You know that there's an incredibly high chance that I'm not going to like them."

"Alright, well, if you feel like you're going to murder them then. Deal?"

"Deal." I spit on my hand and shake hers.

"We're so gross!" She laughs.

"I wouldn't have it any other way."

Lynn and I ended up dozing off until her alarm woke us up at six, signalling that we needed to get ready and head out. I don't make a huge effort with my clothes, just a skirt and top with sandals that haven't been scuffed and ran into the ground. No surprise, Lynn is trying to impress Marlene again. She wears a floaty cream maxi skirt, something I would have never envisioned her in before. I'm starting to suspect Marlene has a thing for hippies, it would explain a lot of Lynn's recent fashion choices.

"Where are we even going?" I ask Lynn, who is perched looking out my window smoking a cigarette.

"To this bar type thing. It's called 'Faction avenue' but people just call it 'Faction ave' for short."

"Strange name," I reply, "so what do people do there? Just sit at the bar and drink all day?"

"No, its not just a bar, there are big tables and couches and a few arcade games. They serve food as well. It's pretty much the place to be," she laughs.

"If it's the place to be, then why have we never been there before?"

"Because, we're both introverts and you moved away, remember?"

"How could I forget."

Once Lynn is finished, we head down the stairs and into her van. It's not the normal vehicle of choice for an eighteen year old these days, it's an old retro camper van. She begged her dad to get it her for her birthday, and it was a total wreck at first but she's done a pretty good job at fixing it up. It still needs the paint work doing, but the inside is immaculate. We drive to Faction Ave, which doesn't take long at all, and hop out the van. I'm starting to feel nervous. Lynn didnt say exactly who was going, but the only thing that I'm bothered about is the fact that I've never met them before and there's probably going to be a large group of them. I hope I don't start shaking like an idiot and turn red whenever one of them tries to speak to me.

"Hey," Lynn waves her hand in front of my eyes. "You'll be cool, okay? Just chill, we won't stay long."

I nod my head in reply and try to give a reassuring smile. Lynn waves to a group of people who look about our age. As we approach them, I see the last person I wanted to see today. Four.

"Hey, Lynn!" A boy with a handsome face and smile calls us over. We sit on the spare couch that's against the wall.

"Uriah," Lynn nods her head in a friendly way. I see Marlene sat next to him, looking as gorgeous as ever. I can see why Lynn has a weakness for her. Lynn smiles at her and says "hi", Marlene just smiles awkwardly in reply.

"Guys this is Tris," everyone nods their heads and gives me their greetings. "Tris, this is Uriah, Uriah's brother Zeke, you know Marlene, Shauna, Christina, Will and Four."

"She knows who I am." Four says in a deadly calm voice, while he drags his fingers along the condensation on his beer bottle.

"You two know each other?" Uriah asks.

"Yeah," Four replies, "our families go way back."

"I went to his house yesterday," I say.

"You went to Four's house?" The boy named Zeke says in shock, looking at me weirdly. Now, everyone's staring at me and I'm desperately trying to fight the blush that's creeping on my cheeks.

"Yeah, problem?"

"Not at all. It's just no one's ever been to Four's house. Ever," Zeke replies, but then Shauna taps on his shoulder and starts to talk to him about something. The rest soon follow, engaging in chatter and private conversations. Four leans over to me, to the point where he's almost sat on the couch.

"I'm a very…private person," he smiles apologetically.

"Maybe. But I just think you've got a stick up your ass," I smirk.

"I'm starting to think that maybe you're right," he leans back in his chair and takes a swig of his beer, the whole time not breaking eye contact with me.

I stayed at Faction Ave for a couple of hours, and then headed home with Lynn. She dropped me off at my place and I told her I would see her soon. I unlock the front door and make my way inside, slipping my shoes off and dumping my bag and keys on the side table. I slump into the brown corduroy couch in our living room, head tipped back, eyes closed. The couch is currently my favourite place in the house besides my bed, since it's new and comfortable. Nearly everything else we own is outdated since we didn't move in too long ago and can't afford to replace all of the furniture straight away. My mother laughs about it, saying people pay fortunes for the 'vintage effect'. However, I disagree, thinking it just looks tired and farm-house like. I don't know how long I've been sat here when my mother eventually arrives home, looking happier than usual. She's wearing a black cocktail dress and looks like she spent a while doing her hair.

"Hey sweetie," she beams at me.

"Hi…mom," I reply, suspiciously. "Where've you been?"

"Oh, just with a friend."

"A friend? You have friends?"

"Yes I do," she turns her nose up at me and goes to walk in the kitchen. Then it all kicks in.

"You've been with a man, haven't you?"

"I have," she sighs. "But he's very nice Beatrice, you would like him. We should all go out sometime."

I stand up from the couch holding my hand to my head out of pure frustration. "Oh yeah?" My voice raises, "so that we can all play happy families? That's you mom. That's not me. I don't want you screwing everything up again just because you think you need a man to be happy."

"Do you not think that after everything I _deserve_ to be happy? What about me? It's not all about you and your teenage emotional turmoil!"

"Teenage emotional turmoil? Good one."

"It's true. And you need to get over everything that's happened. Maybe if you did, you'd be happy like I am."

"Happy? How long have you known him? Two hours?" I taunt.

My mother slams her purse down on the kitchen counter and walks over, leaning against the doorway. She grinds her jaw and glares at me, sussing out what to say next. "I just-"

"Look," I cut her off with a sigh, " I don't care what you do, alright? But he's not coming in the house."

"You're nearly eighteen, I will respect your wishes until then. But in twenty-five days when you turn old enough to live on your own, I'm making my own decisions."

I don't argue back. Instead, I get down from the couch, grab my bag, and jog up the stairs. I slam my bedroom door, causing the top of my poster to flop down and the door hangings to shake and rattle. I'm angry. We moved back to Chicago in the hope that things would get better, but I just think they're going to get worse.


	3. Mary Jane

****A/N- I do not own Divergent or any of its characters, rights go to Veronica Roth.****

* * *

August 3rd

I stand in the steamy shower, allowing the stream of water to beat down on my face. I don't know how long I've been standing in here for, but I don't want to get out. I suspect half an hour has passed when the water starts to turn ice cold. I know my mom is going to kill me when she finds out I've used all the hot water, we're only supposed to have 10 minute showers. I sigh and turn the faucet off, grab my towel from the rail and start to pat down my wet skin and wring out my hair. I feel sleepy because I've been in the hot shower for so long. I lay down on my bed not bothering to put clothes on, and start to close my eyes.

I wake up to the annoying ring tone, and my phone vibrating next to my head. I groggily pick up the phone and try to accept. My hands are still so weak from sleep that I'm struggling to do it, but eventually I manage to answer.

"What?" I moan.

"Come over to my house you lazy little shit!" Lynn laughs.

"Leave me alone!"

"No, come one! I'm bored as hell over here," unless I want her to break into my house again, I'll have to do what she says.

"Fine, fine. Just give me 10 minutes to get dressed," I reply.

"Five," she corrects. "Now hurry up!" With that, she hangs up.

I moan and drag myself up from the bed. My hair seems to have dried, although it looks a bit messy now. My bed is also soaking wet, so I fluff the covers up a bit in the hope that they will dry by the time I go to sleep tonight. I walk over to my closet and aimlessly flick through all my clothes. They're pretty much all the same, different logo t-shirts advertising anything from soda brands to space agencies. I slip on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, and pull on some sneakers. I don't brush through my hair, just ruffle it up a bit, it dried in its natural waves. I barely ever bother with makeup, my skin is tan and clear. I settle on just applying one coat of mascara and smudge on some brown eyeliner to make my eyes stand out. I grab my suede tassel backpack (which is my favourite and only bag), pick up my keys and wallet and head out the door. The fresh summer air hits me and I take in a deep breath. I feel very shitty this morning so it's nice to be outside. I walk over to Lynn's because she only lives round the block from me. Once I walk up to her house, I see her and Shauna arguing on the front lawn. What's Shauna doing here?

"You best not screw it up for me either! Y'hear me?" She shouts in my face as I walk up the path.

"Shauna! Shut up we can do what we want!" Lynn screams.

I'm too shocked to answer to her, what's Shauna doing at Lynn's house? And what would I screw up for her?

"What's the matter? Can you not talk or something? You seemed to talk pretty easily when Four was around." Shauna hisses.

"Shauna, leave!" Lynn pushes Shauna onto the sidewalk. She walks away and jumps into her car, giving me a death glare on her way. Once she's left, I let out the breath that I didn't know I was holding. Lynn walks up to me and grabs me by the shoulders, pushing me into the house and slamming the door behind her.

"W-what was all that about?" I ask Lynn.

"Shh!" She grabs my hand and pulls me up to her bedroom. Her parents are usually in the house so we spend most of our time trapped in her brightly coloured, musky bedroom. She plonks her self on the bed and stares at me. "Shauna is my older sister." She sighs.

"Your sister?" I almost shout. I know that Lynn has a little brother, Hector, but she never told me about a sister.

"Yeah. She moved out when she was 18, she's 20 now."

"How did I not know this? Why did you never tell me? We're best friends! How could I not know that you have a sister?"

"Calm down alright! We don't have the best relationship, and even when she did live here, she was always at Zeke's. I used to just pretend that she didn't exist." I can tell that Lynn is upset and annoyed with her sister, so I decide to not be too harsh with her.

"Why didn't you have a good relationship?"

"I don't know. I guess it's just like you and your brother, we never bonded." My brother is Caleb. He's 10 months older than me but I haven't seen him in person since he left with my dad when him and my mom split up. Sometimes I wish I had chosen to live with them too. "She also doesn't like the kind of person I am. She thinks I'm useless and a drama queen."

"Well you're not useless. And only 40 percent drama queen," I wink and nudge her arm, causing her to laugh.

"She hates the fact that I'm starting to hang around with her friends. But I met Marlene through Shauna, so what does she expect?" Lynn shakes her head out of frustration.

"Why doesn't she want us to hang around with them?"

"Because she thinks we're going to cause drama or embarrass her. But I don't even care, she can't always live in this perfect little bubble."

"Well, it's not up to her what we do. And I knew Four anyway."

"Yeah, about that…" Lynn rolls her eyes.

"What?" I ask, confused.

"She got pretty pissed off about the fact that you went to Four's house."

"Why would she care about that?"

"I suppose she's always been pretty close to Four, and he's never let her in like that. She also doesn't want you to hurt him," she pauses, "I don't even know, it's just bull shit."

"How would I hurt him? I only saw him once, it's not like we're dating," I laugh.

Lynn looks at me and smirks. She's about to say something but thinks better of it, dropping the conversation.

…

We sat in silence for a while, since Shauna's outburst I've felt more unwanted than usual. On one of her many efforts to try and cheer me up, Lynn decided that she wanted to take me to the local tattoo parlour. It's the same one that Lynn always goes to, she's friendly with the tattoo artist, Tori. We arrive at the small shop in the city, and make our way inside. It's dim lit and smells like disinfectant, the walls are covered in pieces of artwork and pictures of tattoos. A tall woman with dark hair walks through the beads that hang off the doorway and smiles warmly at us.

"Nice to see you again, Lynn. Wanting another tattoo?" The woman, who must be Tori, asks Lynn.

"I actually came here because Tris is a tattoo virgin and I want to change that," she smirks at me, "but I may be persuaded to add another small one to my collection."

"Alright," Tori laughs. "Nice to meet you Tris, got any ideas in mind?"

"Nice to meet you too, um, I actually wanted something that Lynn drew for me." I reply, looking at Lynn who wears a shocked expression.

"Oh really, what's that?" As she asks me, I reach down into my bag and retrieve the piece of tattered paper that I always carry with me in my bag. It's a drawing of three black ravens, she drew them and sent them to me in the mail when I wasn't living in Chicago. It was after I had just had a breakdown on the phone with her about missing my old perfect family unit. The ravens represent my mom, dad and brother Caleb. We're not the same as we used to be, but that doesn't mean that I still don't hold a place for them in my heart. "Wow. Nice artwork Lynn, where were you thinking of having them Tris?"

"Just below my collarbone, if that's okay?"

"I think we can handle that," she smiles at me, "come through here, I'll get started straight away."

I follow her into the small room and sit myself down on the chair. She arranges all her equipment and needles and holds up the black drawing. She starts to make a stencil of the drawing, and then copies it onto my skin, asking me if I like it. Honestly it looks even better than I imagined, and I can't wait for it to permanently become a part of me. The needle makes contact with my skin, it's not comfortable, maybe even painful. But I don't like to admit defeat so I just bite down on my lip and squeeze Lynn's hand. Eventually, Tori announces that she's finished and holds up a hand mirror for me to look in. Tears threaten to prick my eyes when I see how beautiful it looks. I've carried this drawing with me everywhere I go for a couple of years now, and to see it physically imprinted on my skin makes me proud.

"Can't believe I drew that," Lynn has her eyebrows raised and smiles slightly, her voice thick with emotion. I know that it will mean a lot to her that I got one of her drawings tattooed onto me. She's always dreamed of becoming an artist, and I'm the only one who's supported her, who told her how amazing she is. Her parents are ashamed of her and think she's going to become a deadbeat drawer from downtown.

"Well believe it, because you did!" I laugh and nudge her. "Thank you, I love it, and now everyone will get to see it."

She smiles at me and laughs. "Okay Tori, I can't resist. Get me seated on that chair!"

Tori laughs as I hop down from the chair, Lynn takes my place, but she straddles the chair so that her back is facing us. She pulls her hair up into a not on the top of her head, revealing the small tattoos on her neck and behind one of her ears.

"What do you want and where do you want it?" Tori asks, changing the needle of the tattoo gun and wiping everything down.

"I want to add another name under my grandma's, same style of writing," she replies.

"Okay, what name?" Tori asks.

"Tris." Lynn turns to look at me and gives me a shy smile. "Do you mind?" She asks me.

"N-no," this is a meaningful gesture. Lynn was close with her grandmother before she died, she practically raised her. She was also the only person in Lynn's family who was accepting of who she is. She understood Lynn's feelings and strange personality, she used to tell Lynn that she reminded her of herself when she was younger, except she was never brave enough to show it. She died when Lynn was 13, causing her depression. She's never quite been the same since, her eyes no longer hold innocence and she's a bit rougher around the edges. "Why do you want my name?" I still sound shocked.

"Because," she pauses, "you've helped me through a lot. I don't know where I would be without you. Hell, I probably wouldn't even be on this planet anymore."

I swallow thickly at this. Even though I've had my own problems, I've always helped Lynn with hers. We've helped each other. I've encouraged her to be the person she is and helped her come out to her parents. I was also there to pick up the pieces when they didn't react well to the news.

"Well, since you gave me the name 'Tris', I'll allow Tori to ink it onto your skin," I wink at her and she laughs, giving Tori the heads up to get started.

In no time at all, the tattoo is finished. Lynn didnt even flinch once, but I'm not surprised since this is probably her 20th tattoo. They're all small or tiny ones, but she has plenty. The writing looks beautiful, and lies underneath her grandmother's name on the back of her neck. We say goodbye to Tori and head back to Lynn's house.

…

"My neck is itching like a bitch," Lynn groans.

"I know, mine is too, what can we do to stop it? The cream is useless!" I sound just as fed up as she is.

"Hmm," she pauses for a moment and taps her chin, pretending to be thinking hard. "I may have something that will take the edge off." She gets up off the bed and walks over to her desk, pulling an old mint tin out of one of the drawers. I know what's in the tin, and I can't say I'm surprised. "Care to join me?" She wiggles her eyebrows. I shrug my shoulders in reply and she laughs, grabbing my hand and pulling me towards the open window.

"Go on then, suppose it will take my mind off things." I sigh.

"It always does!" She walks back over to the other end of her room and closes her door shut. She grabs a used towel from her hamper and rolls it up, placing it in front of the gap at the bottom of her door. This old trick seems to do the job of keeping the smoke from leaving the room. She comes back and pulls a lighter out of her pocket, and takes a pre-rolled joint out of the little tin. She lights it up and takes in a breath, her shoulders relaxing almost instantly. She hands it to me and I do the same, eager to feel its calm release. We finish it off and continue to stare out the window. My head feels about 10 times lighter and I keep looking to Lynn and giggling. I look way more happier than she does, but that's because she's become used to the feeling. Her eyes are slanted and the corners of her mouth lift up slightly.

"So..lets talk about your new male friend." She says to me, winking.

"What male friend?" I laugh.

"Oh shush Tris you know I'm talking about Mr. sex God! Also known as Four," she smirks.

"Mr. sex God? Seriously?"

"Yeah, I mean I wouldn't pass on the opportunity to get him into bed."

"Lynn! I mean he is pretty hot but I didnt think he was your type? You know since he doesn't have long hair and boobs!"

"I think girls still look sexy with short hair actually," she corrects me. "But I mean look at him, I still wouldn't say no."

"He's not even my friend. My mom wanted him to tutor me, but I told him he didnt have to. He rang me up yesterday actually saying she left some of my books there."

"Seriously? Dude! Are you going to go over there and get some? I mean.. them," she laughs at her own stupid joke, and I can't help it. I laugh along too.

"I don't know I was just going to leave them, I don't need them anyway."

"Yeah but this is an opportunity to see him again. He might invite you in. Not to hook up with you, but its still a chance to talk, right?"

"I don't even know if I like him. I don't really like anyone."

"Well you're not gay like me so you're just being stubborn. He's nice and attractive, come on Tris, don't be stupid!"

I sigh and lean my head against the wall that we're sat against. I guess it wouldn't hurt if I went over there.

"What time is it now?"

"It's only 7. Perfect time. I'll even drive you there if you want?" She's being unusually thoughtful.

"It's okay I'll just walk, it's only 15 minutes. Then I can walk back."

"Oh yeah good thinking, then you can stay at his!" She starts to giggle hysterically and stands up, grabbing something from her dresser. "Here, let me spray this on you. You reek of weed." She sprays strong perfume all over me, I'm probably going to give him a headache. I shrug on my thigh length tailored tartan jacket and grab my bag.

…

There's banging and shouting, that's all I can make out. I can't tell what they're shouting about, but I can tell by the tone of voice that it isn't happy shouting. They're not having a party, they're having a fight. As I approach the house, I realise the chaos is coming from in there. Four's house. The perfect house with the freshly painted door, and bunches of yellow carnations planted alongside the path. I should walk away, right now. But I can't, my stubbornness and curiosity is pushing me forward, telling me to nock on that door. I knew it would get me into trouble one day, I just didn't know when. I gulp and clench my fists, deciding to pursue the reason why I came. I did tell him that I would be coming, after all. As I raise my hand to touch the brass knocker. I get a terrible feeling in my stomach of what could actually be going on in that house, of what I could be interrupting. I start to get a flashback of the things that happened a couple of years ago, my palms go sweaty and I grab the knocker, banging it loudly against the door. Partly to pull myself back from my threatening haze, partly to pull a stop to whatever madness is happening behind these walls. The house goes silent. Too silent. I step back from the door, knotting my fingers to stop them from trembling. All I can think about is what a bad idea coming here was. Now that I seemed to have stopped them for the time being, I should probably run away before they realise it was me who knocked on their door. I start to back away even further from the door when it slowly creaks open. Four stands in sweatpants and a sweatshirt, panting with a furrowed brow and wide eyes.

"Tris?" His voice is hoarse, it sounds like he's been shouting at a concert all night.

"Yeah, um, I actually um- I came to pick up those books! Uh, you know the…math ones?" I look anywhere except at him, I feel mortified.

"Oh okay, just wait here." He walks away from the door, closing it slightly but not fully. There's still utter silence reeking out from the house, except now I can hear Four shuffling around. He comes back and opens the door, holding a plastic carrier bag filled with a few books. He doesn't say anything, just continues to stare at me. I slowly walk up to the door in silence, counting each step I take. I wonder if I would be able to sneak a peak inside the house, but he hasn't opened to door fully enough for that to be possible. I feel his gaze burn on me as I reach out and take the plastic carrier bag from his hands. His arm continues to hang loosely at his side, but he unclenches his fingers so that I can take the bag. He continues to stare at me, with a confused and shocked look on his face. I finally meet his eye contact, and wish I didnt. I get the sudden urge to need to get out of here quickly. I was an idiot for interrupting, they were probably just having some stupid argument like most families do, and I disregarded their privacy and intruded on them.

"Thanks, um, gotta go, bye!" The words are rushed and I turn away quickly, keeping my head down and charging down the path.

"Tris, wait!" He shouts, starting to jog behind me.

"Sorry, I'm in a rush, I've got to um- got things to do," I have no excuse and he knows it.

"Let me drive you home, you shouldn't be walking on your own when you've, you know…" He pauses and fails to finish his sentence.

"When I've what?" I turn around to look at him.

"Either I'm right and you've been spending time with your friend Mary Jane, or you've just got really bad allergies."

He's probably referring to my blood shot eyes. Damn, I was silly, but it would have been even more silly of me if I had turned up to his house wearing shades.

"I-yeah, allergies." I sound exasperated but I really just want to get out of this situation right now. I could break into a sprint pretty easily and be home in five minutes. "I'll be fine, I just want to walk alone." I walk away from Four and don't look back, but I feel his dark blue eyes on me until I turn the corner. There's been too much family drama today for my liking. I don't know what I just nearly walked in on, but I know it couldn't have been pretty.


	4. Friendship

****A/N- I do not own Divergent or any of its characters, rights go to Veronica Roth. ****

* * *

August 8th

It's been five days since I ran away from Four. It reminded me of the shouting that used to happen at my house, and I've been in a foul mood ever since. I haven't even seen Lynn, I've just stayed in my bedroom watching movies on my laptop. The only human contact I've had is when my mom comes in and hands me a plate of food, which I don't eat much of. I've been sitting in my room all morning, as per usual, when there's a nock on my bedroom door.

"What is it?" I sigh.

"Lynn's here to see you, can she come in?" My mom asks, politely.

"Of course I can go in I don't need her permission," Lynn says, not so politely. She barges in my room and stands at the foot of my bed, her arms are crossed and she's tapping her foot. "Where the hell have you been?" She screeches. My mom shuts the door behind us, obviously wanting to avoid being caught up in a teenage row.

"I've been in my room."

"I can see that. Why haven't you been answering your phone?"

"I don't know where it is. I think it's over there somewhere," I reply, pointing to the other end of my room and then rolling sideways on my bed, trying to get comfy again. Lynn walks over to my dresser and large armchair, which has my jacket and back slumped over it. She rummages in my bag and picks out my very dead cell phone, then carries it over to my bedside table and reaches for the charger, plugging it in. She sits down on my bead heavily which makes me bounce up a bit.

"That thing is so dead it's probably going to take an hour to come back on," she laughs. All I do is grunt in reply and pull the pillow over my head. "You stink, when was the last time you took a shower?" Lynn and I are very comfortable with each other so I'm not even offended by her question. I know I stink.

"I dunno, a few days ago?" I reply, but it sounds more like a question.

"Come, on, we're going out!" She tries to pull me off the bed but I flop my body, making it incredibly difficult for her to move me. She groans as she pulls on my arms, my body smacks onto the floor.

"Hey! What did you do that for!" I'm rubbing my arm, which I'm sure is now going to bruise.

"Because you need to get your ass up and in the shower! We're going to Faction Ave for a few drinks."

"Lynn, I still look like a twelve year old, no way would they serve me drinks."

"Oh shut up, we'll just get one of the other's to buy us a few."

I stand up, earning myself a head rush. I grab my towel and robe and head into the bathroom, slamming the door behind me. When I look in the mirror I almost scare myself. My skin is paler than usual and I have dark circles under my eyes. My hair is messy and greasy, and I look like I could do with a good scrub. I turn the shower on and strip my clothes off, grabbing the nicest smelling shower gel I have. I spent about fifteen minutes scrubbing all the grime off me, I must admit I feel a lot better. I brush my teeth and wrap my hair in a towel, and then shrug on my robe and head back into my bedroom.

"Much better!" Lynn sighs, she's reading one of my books. "I had to open the window because it stinks of sweat in here. If I didn't know you any better I would have thought you'd just had sex." She sniggers which earns her a punch in the side. I push her off my bed and into the armchair, then I start to strip my bedding.

I take my time getting ready, trying to make myself look more awake. My hair looks tousled and I'm wearing a loose black silky cami top with light wash skinny jeans. I put on my black biker boots and leather jacket.

"Don't you scrub up well," Lynn wiggles her eyebrows. "Showing off your new ink too! Lookin' good Prior."

"Gee, thanks," I smile at her.

As soon as the clock strikes six, we head on out the door and into Lynn's van. We'll probably end up getting a cab back, or knowing Lynn, she'll camp out in her van in the parking lot.

…

We arrive at Faction Ave, and it seems a lot busier tonight, probably because it's a Friday. I don't usually like drinking alcohol but I might have one glass of something weak. We find the group that was here last time easily, except there are a couple more people sat with them. I notice Four isn't here, maybe he isn't that friendly with them. Everyone says hi to us as we sit down, until a boy who I've never met before sneers and opens his fat mouth.

"Oh look, it's Lynnie the lesbian! And she's brought her girlfriend with her!" He laughs at his jokes, and a girl who resembles a tank laughs along with him. Everyone else just keeps their heads down. Me and Lynn sit in silence and I squeeze her leg, trying to reassure her. I don't know this guy but he looks like a total jerk.

"Quit it Peter," Christina says to the boy.

"She's not my girlfriend," Lynn sneers.

"What's your name," the boy, Peter, asks me.

"Tris," I reply a little too quietly.

"Well, Tris, I can try and set you up on a date with Christina here."

"Ew, Peter! You know I don't bat for the other team."

I'm starting to feel extremely uncomfortable, Peter is pounding on Lynn and I, and everyone else stays quiet. How can they just let him be a jerk like this? I want to defend myself, I want to tell him that he's wrong. But I don't want to offend Lynn by being too quick to deny his assumptions. It shouldn't matter whether he's right or not.

"So," Uriah says awkwardly, "did anyone watch the game the other night?"

The guys quickly spring into a deep conversation about football, and I can feel Shauna glaring at me from the other end of the table. If looks could kill.

"We can leave if you want to," Lynn whispers in my ear.

"No," I reply firmly, "that would just be giving him what he wants. You wanted to come here tonight, right?" She nods her head. "Well then, we're staying here. If he has a problem with us then he can leave."

"Thanks. You're amazing do you know that?"

"You are too. Thanks for dragging me out here. Even though I could have done with out seeing that dick of the week, I really needed to get out of that house."

Uriah and Marlene go to the bar, buying a massive pitcher of some kind of cocktail. Uriah always gets served here because he looks older than his age. I only have one small glass, buying soft drinks instead. Marlene makes small talk with us, and I can see that she's a nice, polite girl. Every so often Uriah's arm drapes over her though, and I can see Lynn's fists clench. I'm guessing that Marlene and Uriah have a thing for each other, and that's the reason why she won't commit to Lynn. I wonder if anyone even knows about her and Lynn except for us three. I'm guessing probably not. Eventually, I decide on taking a bathroom break, and excuse myself from the table. I walk past the bar, out of the crowded seating area, and walk down the short hallway that leads to the bathrooms, when I feel a cold hand clamp around my upper arm. I twist around immediately and come face to face with Peter.

"Don't fucking touch me," I try to yank my arm away but he's too strong, he overpowers me.

"What's the matter?" He leans in too close to me, shoving me against the wall. I can smell cigarettes and beer on his breath, it makes me want to vomit. "Don't like being touched by men?" I spit in his face but all this earns is a sinister laugh. "I think I could change that, Tris." He keeps me held against the wall with his forearm against my chest. His other arm starts to lightly touch my leg, before he grabs it with his hand and drags it upwards, towards my hip. His hand feels more like a claw on my bare skin, his nails digging in painfully. Then, he starts to press his lips against mine. Not in a passionate way, in a forceful way. This has gone too far, I bring my knee up sharply and jam it into his groin. He groans loudly and instantly lets go of me, I jab him again a couple more times until he's crouching on the floor, holding himself. I kick him against the wall and kneel down, close enough that I can whisper in his ear.

"I told you not to fucking touch me."

I head into the bathroom feeling dizzy and nauseous. I splash cold water onto my face and use the bathroom. When I come out I try to compose myself, smoothing down my hair and readjusting my clothing. I stare at my reflection in the mirror, wondering what to do next. I decide to stand in here for another five minutes, giving Peter a chance to clear off and get the hell out of my way. I know that I defended myself pretty well, which was surprising, but I'm still shaken up. My lip still trembles and my hands are clammy, I hate boys touching me even if it's not in a malicious way. I soon realised that it's because I've learned to not trust men, and I don't like making myself vulnerable to them. I eventually decide to open the door to the bathroom, seeing if Peter is still lying on the ground. Thankfully, he's not. I make my way back over to the table and sit down like nothing had happened. I don't want to make a big scene, and I wonder if they noticed where Peter went.

"What took you so long, you feeling okay?" Christina asks me.

"Um, yeah I'm fine," I reply.

"You sure? You don't look too good," Uriah says, looking concerned. I wish they would back off my case before I break down.

"Yes, I told you all I'm fine."

"Looks like someone can't handle their drink," Shauna taunts, a few people snicker.

"Come on," Lynn grabs my arm but it makes me jump and recoil from her touch. "Tris, I think it's time to go." Her brows are furrowed and she's staring down at me, like everyone else. I nod my head and follow her out.

…

We sit in her van in the far corner of the nearly empty parking lot.

"What the hell happened to you? You haven't stopped shaking since you came back from the bathroom!" Lynn rubs my back.

"It's nothing, forget about it."

"Peter? I saw him go to the bathroom shorty after you, did he say anything? Damn it, I knew I should have gone with you."

"He didnt say anything! He tried to force himself on me, that's all. And I don't need you to walk me to the bathroom, I can take care of myself."

"That's _all_? He tried to _force_ himself on you? Tris that's disgusting, you shouldn't shrug it off!"

"Well it's okay because I took care of him! Honestly, I'd rather just forget about it."

We sit in silence for a moment sat on one of the couches in her camper van, contemplating the many events of the night. "He's such a dick. I don't know why they hang around with him."

"Well they don't all seem that great either. I mean, they didn't defend us and Marlene was cozying up to Uriah in front of you the whole night!"

"Don't talk to me about Marlene! I don't want to hear it! The others are nice once you get to know them, it's just that they've known Shauna the longest and she's being a bitch about the whole thing. They probably just want to stay out of it."

"Yeah," I whisper and clear my throat. "You're right. It's just, I'm not used to it. You know, being around a group of people. I haven't had a group of friends like that since I was about thirteen. You've been my only friend for the last few years, even when I wasn't living in Chicago."

"I know. But this is for the better, you'll get used to it. And who says that you have to like all of them? You might just find a couple more close friends so that we're not bugging each other all the time," she laughs and nudges into me.

"Yeah, okay. What time is it? Shouldn't we be getting back?"

"I'm going to crash in here tonight. Can't be bothered dealing with parent one and parent two. Stay here if you like?"

"I've never camped in a parking lot before," I giggle.

"You'll love it! As you can see, we have a great view of the industrial sized trash can. Come here, get up, I'll set the bed up. I have PJ's in here and everything."

"I'm starting to see why you love this van so much. It's kind of a home from home, isn't it?"

"Actually, I see it as my only home." She starts to convert the two sofas into a double bed, putting on sheets from the tiny overhead cupboard. Her comment saddens me, I wish she enjoyed living at home. She'll move out as soon as she can afford to, no doubt. She may even just decide to live in her van until then, it wouldn't surprise me.

When Lynn has the bed set up, we crash on it and make ourselves comfortable, talking about random things that only we understand. She can tell that I still feel anxious about before, so she grabs my hand and squeezes it reassuringly. We eventually fall asleep, hand in hand. I can't imagine not having a friend like her.


	5. First Job

**A/N- I do not own Divergent or any of its characters, rights go to Veronica Roth. **

* * *

August 11th 

"Beatrice!" My mother sing-songs when she walks into the house, the metal clatter signifying her throwing the keys into the ceramic pot. It's early morning and I'm currently sat on my bed reading my new novel. "Beatrice! It's nine o'clock, time to get out of bed!" I hear the pitter patter of her feet as she charges up the stairs, then the sound of the door knob jiggling as she tries to enter my room. "Unlock the door Beatrice," she says. I huff and heave myself out of bed, unlock the door, and then lay back down again, covering my face with a pillow. "Come on," she grabs my ankles and starts to pull me out of bed.

"Hey!" I yell, slapping her hand away.

"Oh good, you're awake. Time to get out of bed. Get in the shower and get dressed, because I got you a job," she says whilst picking up my dirty laundry off the floor and shoving it into the hamper, then opening the curtains and blinding me with the morning light.

"A job?' I spring up off the bed and look at her in complete and total shock.

"Yes. Suzanne at work was telling me how her daughter, who owns a small bakery, is struggling at the moment because one of her staff members just quit. I told her you'd be fit for the job, so she rang up her daughter, Becky, and she agreed to give you a trial run this afternoon!" she claps her hands together and beams at me, "isn't this exciting? Your first job!"

"Well, I was kind of hoping that I would actually get to pick my first job _myself,_ but whatever, thanks mom," I say sarcastically. "Where is it? What will I be doing? I can't even bake..."

"It's called Dauntless bakery, next to the salon, it's only round the corner so you'll be able to walk there. You won't be baking, you'll manage the till and serve the customers, and take care of the cleaning. It's a part-time position."

"Sounds brilliant," I deadpan.

My mother huffs and taps her foot, her arms are crossed and she gives me a pointed look, "well what do you expect? You have no idea what career you want, and you barely graduated high school. In fact, I seem to recall you failing mathematics, and you won't even re-take the exam like I suggested."

"If I retook the exam, I would just fail it again, so what's the point?"

"You wouldn't fail it if you let Four tutor you-"

"Mom!" I cut her off, "I'm not letting some guy who I barely know spend their days tutoring me, I bet that's the last thing on earth that he wants to do!"

"_Hmm_," my mother smirks at me, "just _please_ go to this trial run at the bakery. For me? You need money to live Beatrice, and you need something to do. You may love it, and decide that you want to open your own bakery one day." Typical. Now she has my whole entire life planned out in her head.

"Yeah, whatever, thanks for getting me the interview. I suppose it would be nice to have something to do around here," I decided to please her since there's no point in arguing, and I know that she struggles to support me and pay rent, so I guess she really does need the help. I could do with a bit of spare cash, and decide that maybe this would be a good opportunity for me. I try not to think about it too much, to avoid the nerves setting in.

"That's the spirit! Now come on, wear your black trousers and black t-shirt, you can go down there in a couple of hours. I'll go and make some eggs and toast."

Later, I'm walking down my street, on the way to the bakery. My legs feel like jelly and I'm dreading the next few hours. What if I embarrass myself? What if I'm no good? What if she hates me? _What if._ Then, my palms start to go clammy and I have intense amount of raged butterflies trapped in my stomach. When I see the salon, I look along the row of shops and locate 'Dauntless Bakery'. The whole front is glass window, with a black banner at the top, with a lit-up sculpture of chocolate cake. I enter through the door, and a little bell chimes. There are a few people sat at some of the small tables, and there's a woman with brown hair behind the counter, serving the customers with delicious mouth-watering sweet treats. I walk up to the counter to try to get her attention, I'm short but the top of the display counter comes up to my neck so it's not too bad.

"Um," I clear my throat, and the woman looks up at me and smiles.

"Hello, how can I help you?" she asks me in a calm and sure voice.

"My name's Tris- Beatrice Prior, I'm here to see Becky?" My voice is a little shaky but I try to control it as much as possible.

"Oh! Hello Tris, I'm Becky," she sticks her hand out over the top of the counter for me, and I grasp it, giving it a firm shake. "If you come round this way, I'll show you the ropes." I follow her through the swinging doorway into the back of the bakery, where she hands me a black apron with the logo on it, and gives me a tour. There are tonnes of ovens and baking equipment, and she shows me how she sorts out and labels the special orders. She tells me how to set out the baked goods in the display counter, and the importance of good hygiene. I pick up how to use the till pretty quickly, and I already know how to clean since I do most of the housework at home. She informs me that the bakery does get quite busy, so I'll have to be able to cope well under pressure and work quickly so that people are served on time and not left waiting too long. I hope that I'll be able to handle it, I'm not the quickest person in the world I'll admit. A couple of hours later, once I've watched her and feel confident I know what to do, she lets me loose and leaves me to it. It's not busy since it's only early afternoon, so I'm able to serve the customers without keeping them waiting too long. When it gets to five o'clock, I am exhausted and decide to go into the back since there aren't any customers. Becky is icing some cupcakes, which look both delicious and pretty.

"So," she says while concentrating on the decorations, "how do you think your first day went?"

"I actually enjoyed it," I fiddle with my apron, "It's good to have something to do."

"Great! Well, you did an awesome job, so I'd be happy to take you on," she smiles at me, wiping her messy hands on her apron.

"Really? That would be great," I smile back at her. This isn't normally like me to jump at an opportunity, but why not? At least it will help me to get off my ass.

"Yeah of course. Erm, I'll give you your forms to sign, it's just minimum wage I'm afraid as I can't really afford that much. I employ one other person so you'll just work your shifts out between the two of you," she walks over to the other side of the room to the large notice board, looking at the calendar, "in fact, we won't need you in tomorrow because Kyle is working all day, but you can come in the day after at 9am."

"That's fine, shall I just dress as I am?"

"Mhmm yep, I'll give you your cap when you come. I'm not big on hair nets, so just tie your hair back and wear the cap at all times," she moves back to icing the cupcake and looks through the window in the doorway to the cafe, "just sort that customer out and then you can go home."

"Alright, thank you for the opportunity!"

"No, thank you! I've really appreciated the help," she smiles warmly and shakes my hand, "see you in a couple of days." I say goodbye to her and walk back into the cafe, only to be met with the deep blue ocean eyes.

"Four?" I ask and he glances up from the display counter, he looks taken aback for a minute but then gives me his small signature smile.

"Tris, I didnt know you worked here?" He walks over to where I'm stood behind the till.

"I actually just started today, my mom's friend's daughter owns the place."

"That's cool, well, can I get a piece of that to go," he points to the large chocolate cake that's situated in the middle of the display counter.

"Sure," I slip on the pair of disposable gloves and grab the spatula and paper cake box. I slide the glass of the cabinet open and scoop up a ready-cut slice of cake, dropping it into the box. I shut the cabinet back up and take my gloves off, moving over to the till. I take his payment and hand him the cake.

"So when do you get off?" He asks me while opening the cake box and grabbing a napkin from the side.

"Now actually, you were my last customer," I take of my apron and hang it on the hook, grabbing my shoulder bag from underneath the till.

"Come on then, I'm walking so you can come with me," he gestures for me to walk out the door with him and I move around to exit the counter, following him through the door.

"How'd you know that I'm walking home?"

He turns to me and smirks, "are you?"

"Yes," I admit sheepishly. "Lucky guess I suppose," I mutter. I thought that seeing Four again would be more awkward than it is, considering what happened the other night when I last saw him. But, he's acting like it never happened.

"Do you come to the bakery often?"

"Nah, I was just dropping my car off at the shop, thought I'd stop by on my way home," we continue to walk in comfortable silence for a couple of minutes.

"So, why the fancy suit?" I gesture toward his attire, it's a deep grey suit that fits him extremely well, complete with a deep red wine coloured tie.

"I work at the kitchen display house, selling and designing kitchens for customers. It's not what I want to do but it means I can save up enough money to move out," he says in between mouthfuls of his cake.

"So what is it that you want to do?"

"Interior design, it's what I studied at college. I'm also trying to save up enough money to start my own business, so I can start decorating and designing people's homes."

"Wow, that's, impressive. So you've already been to college? How old are you?"

"I'll be 22 in october, can't believe i'm still living at home to be honest, but it's temporary. If I didn't plan on starting my own business then I'd be able to move out now," he laughs to himself.

"You sound like you've got it all figured out."

"Only my career," he gives me a meaningful look, then continues eating his cake. I knew he was older than me, but he seems much more mature than I thought he was, considering he's got his career planned and he'll be moving out and starting his own business. I mentally face palm myself when I think about how idiotic I must of seemed with my bloodshot eyes, picking up my tenth grade level math books. Fantastic.

"You must think I'm an idiot," I say. He looks at me with a furrowed brow.

"What?"

"For the other night, you know, when I was taking the term 'relaxation' to a new level."

He laughs at my comment and chucks the now empty cake box into the trash can as we walk by, "I don't think you're an idiot Tris. I thought it was quite funny actually, we've all been there before," he raises his eyebrows at me and nudges me with his elbow gently. Then he sighs and scratches the back of his neck, "but I'm sorry that you had to witness that at my house. We were all just having a, disagreement of sorts."

"It's fine, all families argue. Trust me, I know," I give him a knowing look and stop as we approach his house.

"Want me to walk you back?"

"No, I'll be alright, it's only round the corner. I should probably get a bike or something so I can get back and forth quicker," I laugh to myself about the idea of me huffing and panting on a bike. I'm so unfit right now, I don't even think I'd make it out of my driveway.

"Not passed your test yet?"

"I've not even taken any lessons. Now that I've got a job I'll start saving up for them," I watch as he walks backwards up his driveway.

"Maybe I'll teach you someday," his voice is slightly louder, but still deep and sexy. Damn it, Tris! You can't think like that! I smile back at him, trying not to giggle too excitedly. Jeez, I know how to embarrass myself easily.

"See you soon, Four."

"I hope so," he jogs back into his house, locking the door behind him. What just happened?

"Your life is crazy," Lynn tells me over the phone. I'm currently laying on my bed, palm to my forehead. "One minute you're having a lie in, the next minute you have a job! How does that even happen?"

"Just luck I guess, my mom sorted it all out for me," I reply. I start flicking through a meaningless gossip magazine, cutting out bright pictures for my scrapbook. Scrapbooking is something that I've always done, and I don't think I'll ever grow out of it. I have a whole shelf of books that I've scrapbooked throughout the years, they're private, and no one has ever looked through them except for me.

"What are you doing tonight?"

"What do you think?" Staying in my bed, of course.

"Right," she sniggers. "I'm going out with Uriah and Marlene."

"Both of them together? Like, at the same time?" That should be sufficiently awkward. I don't think Lynn realises that Marlene and Uriah look like a couple to the outside world. This whole situation is a mess, and I'm afraid that my best friend is going to get hurt.

"What's your point?" she snaps.

"Isn't Uriah Marlene's boyfriend?" I know I'm winding her up now, but I can't help it. It's amusing to see Lynn wound up.

"No!" She shrieks, "she does not have a boyfriend! He's more like, a brotherly figure," she reassures herself.

"Uh huh yeah okay…"

"Whatever, Bye!" She hangs up on me and I can't help but laugh about her temper. I've now finally finished this scrapbook, and it's my eleventh one. I walk over to my tall bookshelf that houses the others and pick up the first one that I ever did. It's a pretty pink colour, and is very girly compared to the others considering I was only 8 when I created it. This one has more family pictures in it, including ones of my dad and brother. I think I first completed a scrapbook so that I could keep my memories safe, and it was a way to cope with the gap in my life from the absence of my father and brother. I flick through the pictures of us at christmas, smiling around the christmas tree. Me and my brother looked alike, but I bet that's not the case anymore. I actually have no idea what my brother looks like now, but I wish I did. When I look through these photos, I can clearly see how happy we all looked together, but I now understand that was not the case. Something separated and damaged our family, and I feel like I'll never find out what it is. I never talk to my mom about my dad and Caleb, because she won't answer any questions that I have. She told me that they had their 'differences' and decided that it would be best if they split up. Before I knew it, Caleb and my dad left for Florida and I haven't seen them since. They send me a christmas and birthday card every year, and occasionally some presents because he knows that my mom doesn't have much money, such as my laptop and books and DVD's. In the back of this scrapbook, there's a small letter taped to the last page. It's a letter from my dad, telling me that he's sorry for the way that things have turned out, and if I ever want any of my questions to be answered, to call him. There's a number and an address at the bottom of the letter, but I haven't used any of this information yet. Maybe, someday I will.


	6. Kyle

**A/N- I do not own the Divergent characters, Veronica Roth does. **

* * *

August 15th

I'm currently on my way to work, listening to my music, allowing the morning sun to beat down heavily on me. Personally, I think it's far too early to be walking anywhere, but since there isn't any other way for me to get around I have no other choice. I have to practically force my legs to move, which is proving to be painful. They feel numb with sleep, and the warm weather makes my forehead damp. If I closed my eyes right now, I could probably fall asleep standing up. I walk past Four's house, and can't shake the temptation to look up and see if his car's in the driveway. It never is. It's half 7 in the morning, I can't imagine that he really starts work that early, but who knows. About 15 minutes later, I finally arrive at the bakery, almost breaking a sweat after that walk. The door is unlocked, so Becky must already be here. I go behind the counter and take my jacket off, replacing it with an apron. I shove my bag underneath the till and place my hair in a pony tail, threading it through the back of my cap. We open in 10 minutes, so I have enough time to bring the cakes and sweets out of the fridge and place them into the display counter. I walk into the back, with the fridge in mind as my destination, and somehow my ass meets the floor. I slipped. My legs flung in the air, and I crashed onto the tile flooring. To say it hurt would be an understatement, I swear I think I've bruised my tailbone or something, the pain is sharp and blinding. "Crap," I mutter under my breath, my eyes squeezed shut.

"I'm so sorry, I should have put the wet floor sign up or something," a deep voice says. I open my eyes to see a tall boy with shaggy blonde hair crouching in front of me, helping me off the floor.

"Yeah, well, that would have probably been a good idea," I remark.

"I'm so sorry, are you hurt?"

"I'll be fine, it was just a slip. Who are you?" I look at the boy who has bright green eyes and fair skin, he has a large toothy grin and looks quite lanky.

"My name's Kyle, I'm not supposed to be working today but Becky wanted me to come in to polish the floors," he says.

"Oh so you're Kyle," I knew that someone else called Kyle worked here on the days that I didn't, but I never met him before. "I'm Tris," I hold out my hand and he shakes it awkwardly. We stand there for a second before I slowly nod my head and laugh a little, why is he staring at me? Weirdo. I walk around him slowly, trying not to slip on the wet floor, and open the fridge to get the cakes out for today.

"Oh here," he walks over to the fridge and starts to pull out the crates of food, "let me carry those for you, seeing as though you slipped."

"I'm alright, I can handle it on my own," I push his hand away and continue to lift up the crate of cakes.

"Aren't going to let me be a gentleman?" He smirks.

"Aww," I say sarcastically, "who ever said chivalry is dead?" I roll my eyes at his comment. "You know, the more effective way to make a girl feel special is to treat her like she's capable of carrying her own weight around," I walk back into the front of the bakery and begin to set out the cakes in the display cabinet, with Kyle following closely behind

"Yeah, um, sorry," he shoves his hands in his pockets and watches me arrange the sweets.

"So, you just gonna stand there or get back to work?" I smirk at his shyness, and for what feels like the first time in my life, I seem to have the upper hand here.

"I should, yeah, probably get back to polishing the floors," he walks back into the kitchen and I hear the electric buffer machine switch on. Once I have all the cakes set up, I flip the shop sign to 'open' and brace myself for today's customers. Today wasn't too busy, I actually enjoy my time here, once I get over the initial nerves of having responsibility. Kyle left a couple of hours later, and now that it's hit 4'oclock, I too am finally leaving. My back kills from being stood up all day, and I dread the walk home. When I've hung up my apron and taken my cap off, I head outside into the warm summer air. I'll admit, I'm kind of getting used to the independence and new-found maturity I feel from having my own job, even though I don't get payed much. For once in my life, I feel like I'm finally going somewhere. In fact, before I return home, I decide to stop by the small art shop since I got payed today. When I walk in, I'm met with the strong smell of paints, and revel in the assortments of different colours and textures of the paper sheets. There's every style of paint brush that you could imagine, some soft and some stiff. There are sets and trays of water colours, from the cheapest chalky blocks to the expensive waxy bricks. I run my hands along the smooth, cool tubes of paints, and make my way over to the pastels. There are oil pastels and chalk pastels, personally, I like using either, but I think today i'm going to go with the chalk pastels since they're cheaper and easier to seal off and put into my scrapbooks. I pick out a decent sized set that has all the basic colours and more, and head over to the paper section. There are metallic, glittery, shiny, thick, thin, transparent and bumpy sheets of paper, and I feel giddy just looking at it all. It's 50 cents a sheet, so I pick out a few different colours and textures that I've never used before, and also treat myself to a new, sharp pair of scissors. It also has removable blades to that you can change the pattern that the scissors cut in. Fancy. I make my way over to the cashier who bags up all my items and requests my payment. I walk out of the shop with two bags in hand, but it's kind of difficult since one of the bags is huge and contains the paper which I desperately want to avoid creasing. I begin my trek home, walking at a slower pace to avoid crumpling my new buys.

When I arrive home, I'm surprised to see Lynn sat on my front step, smoking a cigarette. I rush up to her and grab the cig out of her mouth, dubbing it on the brick wall and chucking it into the road.

"Hey!" She yells, her brows furrowed and hands held mid-air out of frustration.

"Would you quit that? My mom could be home at any minute and she'll kill me if she sees you smoking here," I say.

"Why would she kill you for something that I do?"

"Because she'll just presume that I smoke too!"

"Fine," she huffs, "I've been waiting out here for hours! Where the hell have you been?"

"At work," I say while unlocking the door, "where do you think?"

"Oh sorry Mrs 'I have a busy life'."

"Well maybe I don't want to sit on my ass like you all day," I taunt while I set my bags down in the kitchen, "at least I have some direction."

"I have direction," she mutters, "oh cool! Art stuff," she pulls out the bag of pastels and papers.

"Not exactly, just scrapbooking."

"Still the same thing," she smiles, "so are you coming out tonight?"

"With who?" I start to boil some water so I can make pasta. I'm starving, and it's about the only dinner that I know how to make.

"Just Uriah and Marlene, we're going to go to Faction Ave, maybe shoot some pool, have a few beers, you know, the usual."

"Sure, how is Marlene by the way?"

"She's pretty awesome," Lynn smirks. I don't ask anymore questions because I really don't want her to elaborate.

…

A couple of hours later after we've eaten, freshened up and changed clothes, we head over to Faction Ave in Lynn's van, which is being ruined by the stench of smoke. She really needs to quit it before the smell is embedded in the fabric of the seats forever. We enter the building, and see Marlene and Uriah sitting on the tall barstools around one of the tall, small tables. Marlene always seems to look glamorous, with her long, dark, thick, wavy hair. She could wear a bin-bag and still look like a poster model, I can see why Lynn is so attracted to her.

"Hey Tris, not seen you in a while," Uriah smiles at me, he always makes me feel easy and relaxed. I suppose that's down to his extremely laid-back personality.

"It's only been a week," I reply, raising one eyebrow slightly.

"Hey," Marlene cuts in, "a week is a long time for us," she smiles widely at me, while accepting a greeting hug from Lynn. I've decided that I like Marlene and Uriah, they seem friendly enough and don't ask too many questions. We sit and chat for a minute, looking at the menu to order some snacks, when my eyes drift off to examine my surroundings. I can't help it, I don't know if it's the anxiety or just my personality, but I'm always looking around me, or behind my shoulder. I notice the large booth at the right side of the bar, filled with noisy people. Four is there, along with Zeke, Shauna, Peter and a few others who I don't know. They're all talking loudly and acting quite boisterous, most likely drunk.

"How come you're not sitting with them," I ask Marlene and Uriah, while simultaneously reading my menu and gesturing to the right side of the building.

"Eh, we don't always hang around with them. They're older and _boring_," Uriah laughs, but I doubt this is the real reason.

"Shut up Urah," Marlene nudges him and turns her attention back to me, "what he really means is that he can't handle being picked on by his older brother."

"Uriah's eighteen and Zeke, his brother is twenty-four," Lynn tells me.

"Yeah, we do get along, he just acts annoying when he's with the guys," Uriah says.

"They _all_ act annoying once they get going," Marlene sniggers, looking at Lynn. "Especially Shauna. She was being an ass so we've avoided her lately." I turn my attention to the booth for a split second, and instantly catch Peter's green eyes, staring back at me. I flick my eyes back to my menu and try to keep my head down, hoping he just looks away and forgets about it. However, I feel his menacing stare burning through my skull. My heart rate picks up and I feel a burn threatening to overcome my cheeks. I get the instinct to want to just run and get out of here quickly, but I know that I must stay and not allow him to ruin my night once again.

"What's that all about," ask Uriah, "Looks like someone's got the hots for you Tris."

"Peter is an ass, don't say that," Marlene slaps Uriah on the shoulder.

"Oh shit! He's coming over!" Lynn warns me. Double crap. I turn my head to see Peter sauntering over, with a beer in hand. He has a slight smirk on his face that makes me want to throw up, what the hell could he possibly want? I can hear Zeke cheering him on from the booth, and see Four giving me an intense stare, furrowing his brow. I'm starting to think that _everything_ about that guy is intense, not just his facial expressions. I'd be lying if I said that it didn't unsettle or nerve me. Peter eventually makes his way over, and leans his upper body on the table next to me, I can smell stale cigarettes and alcohol on his breath, not to mention the overpowering scent of cheap cologne. It's incredibly abusive to my nostrils, he really ought to be more considerate.

"Hey Tris," his voice is quiet and croaky. Menacing, even.

"Hi Peter," I continue to look at my menu which I've been holding in my hand for the past ten minutes, I'm pretty sure that I've decided that I'm not going to order anything, but it gives me a reason not to give him any eye contact.

"So, I just wanted to apologise about the other day," he tucks a piece of hair behind my ear and I flinch at the contact. Everything about him makes my skin crawl, like it's trying to escape my body and be free from his slimy touch. He holds his hands up in surrender, and puts them back into his torn denim pockets. I chose to ignore his remark, I couldnt care less whether he's really sorry or not. "I mean it, I obviously misinterpreted the situation and thought that maybe you liked me, but I can assure you that I get the message. You're not interested. And I want to tell you that it won't happen again."

"You purposely chose to misinterpret the situation Peter," I now give him a deadly stare, "but for your best interest, you better make sure as hell that it won't happen again."

"Wow," he raises his eyebrows and nods his head, "you're a feisty one, can you blame me for wanting to see more of you?"

"Thanks for the apology, just leave," I shoo him away with my hand and turn my attention back to the over-used menu.

"Alright babe," he leans in close to whisper in my ear, "whatever you say," he then slowly walks back to the booth, smirking at me as he goes. I let out a sigh of relief, hoping that I never have to speak to him again. I feel like I'm holding back vomit, even though I acted confident, I was screaming on the inside. Dealing with social situations like that takes a lot out of me.

"What the hell was that all about?" Uriah asks, sounding gobsmacked. Although, as usual, his tone remains light and humorous, managing to bring me back to reality.

"He made a move on me last Friday, but it doesnt matter, he's just an ass. I'm glad we're not sitting over there with them."

"Yeah," Lynn laughs, "arent we all."

Marlene shakes her head, clearly fighting back a smile, while Uriah just sniggers, "so, Tris, what do you do?" He asks me. A week ago I would have replied with nothing, but now, thanks to my mom, I have at least one thing to say.

"Oh, I work at Dauntless bakery," I reply.

"Really? They make the best cakes there," he smiles warmly at me, genuinely interested in knowing more about me.

"I can't take credit for the cakes unfortunately, I just serve them," our small group laughs. Since when did I become so social? "But I agree, they are really good. What is it that you two do?" I gesture to Marlene and Uriah.

"Nothing right now," says Marlene, "but I'll be going to college in September to study for a veterinary degree."

"Wow, so you like animals then?"

"Yeah, I love them, plus my mom's always been a vet so I kind of grew up shadowing her." I nod my head in reply and turn to Uriah, waiting for his answer.

"At the moment I just help my brother at the gym, he does personal training there," he takes a sip of his drink, "but at the end of September I'll be going to college to study teaching. I want to be a high school teacher," I always thought Uriah would want to pursue a sports career or something by the look of him, but now that I've gotten to know him better, I think being a teacher would suit him.

"I haven't really thought about college," I say, "I didnt really do that great in high school, so I'll probably have to work up to a career the long way round."

"Working at the bakery is a good start," says Marlene, "maybe you'll want you own one day."

"That's exactly what my mom said to me," I laugh, "I don't know, maybe I will. We'll see." I don't bring up Lynn's plans because I know what they are, and she doesnt like to talk about it. She's desperately trying to make it as an artist, and although she puts her heart and soul into creating some fantastic pieces, her and I both know that being an artist by profession is never easy, and it's so difficult to get a 'big break' or opportunity. We continue making small talk and shoot a few games of pool. I'm not very good at it but I'm also not terrible. After a couple of games, I start to pick up on technique. The sound of the quiet music and clinking of the pool game fills the atmosphere. The quite laughs between friends surround us, and I can see why people like it here so much. It's nota sweaty club, where the music is so loud that you can't hear anyone, and the flashing lights make it difficult to see, and It's not a sleazy bar, filled with drunk men looking for a one-night date. It's a place where you can actually be social, almost a mixture of everything. I hate to admit it, but when I move around to the left side of the table, I find myself looking up to see Four quickly glance away, turning his attention back to his phone or his boring friends. Was he watching me play? I get confused, wondering why he hasn't just come over to say 'Hi'. I suppose there's some kind of awkward tension going on between our small group of friends and theres, although I don't really see a reason for it. We're all much, much younger than them, so I think it would be odd if we all hung around with them anyway. They seem to be in their mid-twenties, and I haven't even yet reached 18. I carry on playing the game, refusing to look in his direction, although I desperately want to. What the freaking hell is wrong with me? About half way through the game, I actually see him get up and leave. He shrugs on his jacket, downs the last sip of his beer, and grabs his car keys off the table, leaving through the door into the car park. Thankfully, the others never notice that he has more of my attention than the game of pool does, In fact, I think I only just noticed that myself. This 'Four' guy intrigues me, the first person to actually catch my full attention since Lynn. I plan on seeing more of him.

* * *

**_A/N- Thanks for the follow/favs/reviews! It really helps me to keep this story going :)_ **

**So, as you've probably noticed, I've switched up the ages of the characters. **

**Four: 21 (turning 22 in October) Tris: ****17 (turning 18 in about 10 days) and Lynn, Uriah and Marlene are all 18 (they would have been in the same school year). Shauna is a couple of years older than Lynn, and she lives with Zeke (who is 24). The rest of their group (who we aren't really specifically introduced to, except for Christina and Will, are also older, between the ages of 20-25).**


	7. Televisions

**A/N- I do not own the Divergent characters. Rights go to Veronica Roth. **

* * *

August 17th

I wake myself up with a blood curdling scream. Hot tears pour down my face, mixing with the sweat that drips from my skin, soaking my bedsheets. I pant, feeling paralysed, wrapped up in the twisted sheets that surround and constrict my limbs like a strong, fierce snake. My hands are fisted in my pillow, and my cheek hurts from the clamp of my jaw. I taste metallic blood in my mouth, mixed with the feeling that I need to brush my teeth. The sting of my eyes is hard to ignore, along with the sensation that they are puffed so much they're almost closed. I desperately try to kick the sheets off my legs, getting angry when they won't easily budge and tearing them from my body. It's mornings like these where I don't want to face reality, don't want to accept the fact that I actually have to _live_. I have to feel things: pain, happiness, love, longing, sadness…and I don't have a single choice in the matter. I could choose to numb myself, like some people do. With drugs, alcohol, or even pain. But I don't, because for some reason, being numb is just as bad as feeling. But, can numbness be considered a feeling? I wish I was one of those people, who could evoke a theory, and have it sussed out in a matter of minutes. Similar to solving a math problem. However, I was clearly _not_ one of those people. As much as I sometimes pretend to be, there are plenty of things in this world that I just can't wrap my head around. The painful thing is, I actually know that there are things in this world that I do not understand. For people like my mother, it's easy. They go through life, oblivious to all these different theories and wonders, just getting through their incredibly average lives day-by-day, without even raising a single question. I am able to raise the questions, but unfortunately cannot answer them. My mind is such a tease. I look at the small clock that sits on my bedside table, accumulating dust. It's seven in the morning, and I managed to make it six hours without waking up from a nightmare. A new record. Usually, I would lay my head back down and drift back off to sleep until the middle of the day, but my eyes stay wide and alert. The house is silent, my mom doesn't get home until later this morning. So, thankfully, she wasn't here to witness my screams. Don't get me wrong, my mom knows that I scream in my sleep, and she witnesses it often. She used to barge into my room, thinking I was being snatched by an intruder or suffering from insurmountable pain. She has soon realised, that my screams are, like my nightmares, fictitious. Fabricated by my imagination, having no place in the real, and very much awake world. Usually, if I read a book before I sleep, I somehow manage to dream about that universe for a while, before my haunted reality creeps up on me when I am most vulnerable. Last night, however, was clearly not the case. That doesn't stop me though, from grabbing a book that I have already read numerous times from my shelf, and escaping into the folded printed pages.

As expected, my mother arrives a few hours later, her hair unkempt and messy, due to the number of times that she's probably ran her fingers through it in stress. Her glasses cover her tired, overworked eyes, and her scrubs smell of bleach and sickness. "Morning Beatrice," she whispers, while leaning through my doorway to look at me as I lay in my messy bed.

"Hi," I reply, still flicking the pages of my book, "how was work?"

"Busy because it was a Saturday night. I'm going to get a few hours sleep, I have somewhere to be today," she slowly walks into my room, and sits at the bottom of my bed, avoiding my sprawled out legs. Her voice is quiet, even though it's not the night. My curtains remain shut, so one could confuse the purposefully darkened room with that of the nightfall.

"Where are you going?" I reply almost uninterested.

"To a charity event with Marcus and Sarah," the mention of their names allows me to avert my attention from the book to her.

"Why?" I frown my eyebrows in confusion.

"When you were younger, even before you were born, your father and I used to attend them every month with Marcus and his ex-wife. I've missed taking part in the events, and this one concerns the hospital that I work at, so Marcus kindly invited me to go with them." I think it's strange, to think about a life that my mother had before I was born, especially one that involved my absent father. "You can come with me if you want to? Although you might find it rather boring," she smiles a little.

"That's okay, I'll just stay here." Being alone on a Sunday night is always the worst, but I don't admit it. To me, Sunday's are supposed to be spent with family or friends, they're a time for relaxing, and eating good food. When you don't have family or friends, Sunday's are boring, lazy days, that usually entail ordering take-out food because let's face it, who likes cooking a proper meal for one?

"Alright, I'll see you when I wake up," she leans over and kisses me on my forehead, before going to her bedroom and closing the door behind her. My stomach grumbles, reminding me of the fact that I am human, and need to consume food in order to function. So I decide it's time that I got up and ate, basing my day around finding things to do in-between meals.

I stand in front of my tall, bedroom mirror. It's hung up on one of the doors of my wardrobe, and is in the centre of the room, where I unfortunately cannot miss it. The shower water drips from my soaking wet hair, down my naked body. I wish I liked the way that I looked, when I don't have any clothes on. I'm slim, perhaps some would go as far as calling me skinny, but I'm not. I have a very narrow build, which makes me look less than I am. My bones don't stick out, I can pinch a fair amount of fat on my hips, and grip it with a whole hand on my thighs. My breasts are of a reasonable size, not too big, not too small. Actually, I suppose they're on more of the small side. My skin is pale and relatively smooth, apart from the odd stretch-marks that signify a teenage growth spurt, and the small amount of cellulite that tells me I need to exercise. I'm not like the girls on the internet or magazine covers: toned, tanned and muscular, with pert behinds from the painful amount of squats they endure every day. Is that what I'm supposed to look like? Or is it something of a rarity, too look that perfect with barely any clothes on? Who knows, but I do know one thing for sure, if I stared at myself in this mirror all day I would soon become obsessed. That is something that I desperately want to avoid, I have enough troubles without having to worry about my body image. I quickly get dressed into a pair of jeans and sleeveless shirt, throwing a hoodie over the top. I dry my hair in record time, straightening it out so that it will be easier to deal with in the morning.

"Beatrice, your dinner is ready," my mom shouts from the kitchen.

"Coming!" I reply, setting my straighteners and makeup aside and slipping my warm house-socks on. It's 5 in the evening, and it practically took me all day to get up and make myself useful, only to realise that I don't even have anything to do. I jog down the stairs, greeted with the pleasant smell of chicken and roasted potatoes. I sit down at the barstool with a smile on my face, as my mother places the plate of food in front of me. I take no time at all picking up my fork, and shovelling mashed carrots and peas into my mouth. I suppose my mom is eating dinner at the charity even, because she only made dinner for me. She walks over to the pots and pans, setting out another serving of food onto an empty plate. She then covers it in foil and places the plate in the fridge.

"This is your dinner for tomorrow," she says, "I'll be working until midnight. Heat it up in the microwave for a few minutes." I thank her in reply, as she watches me eat the rest of the food fairly quickly. When I'm finished, I stare at my plate for a while, wondering what's going on in her mind.

"What is it?" I say, skeptically. She heaves a sigh and pulls out a barstool, sitting opposite me.

"We need to talk.."

"About?" I raise an eyebrow, sitting back in my chair and stuffing my hands into the pockets of my hoodie.

"You're not coping very well Beatrice," I let out a frustrated groan, I'm about to get up from my seat before she places a stern hand on my arm. "No, you need to sit here and listen to me!"

"How am I not coping?" I question, exasperated.

"I know that you're still having nightmares. You don't even get out of bed until it's time to get back in again. I though that getting the job would have helped you, but it hasn't."

"What do you want me to say? I'm not taking those meds again. They made me slow and foggy, I felt like I was forgetting my own name!"

"Not the medicine, just some kind of, therapy," she shrugs her shoulders and looks down.

"Therapy? Like counselling? We can't even afford that-"

"No, not counselling. The last thing you need is to spend time indulging in your own thoughts. You need to stop being selfish, maybe if you spent some time doing charity work, then you would focus your time on others, and realise how good you've got it." I stare at her in disbelief, she referred to my inner-demons as selfishness. She thinks that me getting help, getting a chance to talk about my problems would be selfish.

"You just don't get it do you? And you never will," before angry tears threaten, I get up from my seat and exit the kitchen, with fisted hands.

"I do get it Beatrice. Your father was like you. Wrapped up in his own head, alway trying to please himself, trying to make himself better. Yet he never once thought about pleasing me!"

"Don't!" I shout, "Don't you dare talk about my father now! Not like that, not when you've refused to speak of him for years!"

"I don't want you to turn into him, you need to get out there, make a life for yourself, help others."

"So, tell me, mom. Were you being selfless when you married a man who was a psychopath? Who said vile things to me and tore me apart? Because the way I see it, you were only concerned with being a doting wife and having someone to sleep with-" I'm cut off by my mothers hand slapping across my face.

"Do not ever speak to me like that again!" She fumes, her eyes wide and body shaking. I find myself backing away slightly, shocked that she showed me so much harshness. My mother has always been the stricter parent, overcome by her desire for control and to 'do good'. She storms upstairs, presumably grabbing her purse and coat because she needs to get to that charity event, carrying on with her 'selfless' life. As I predicted, a couple of minutes later, she pelts down the stairs, her coat half on, half off. She reaches for her set of keys from the side table, not even looking at me when she opens the front door and slams it behind her. I continue to stand there in shock, before allowing my body to collapse on the sofa. I grab the remote, turning the TV on, hoping that pointless yet entertaining cartoons will help take my mind off things. Surprise, surprise, the TV decides it doesn't want to work. I'm fed up of things not functioning in my life, why won't it all just work? I angrily press the buttons on the remote repeatedly, watching the screen skip and fuzz. When this doesn't work, I let out an angry scream and launch the remote at the TV. It's one of those old box TV's, with a curved glass screen. I stomp over to it, picking up the chunky remote and slamming it into the screen several times before I hear a crack. Throughout the whole event, my anger clouds my vision and I don't even know what I'm doing. Soon enough, I find the remote breaking through the screen, the bottom half of my arm going with it. My arm is inside the TV, I can feel the wires and contraptions that make it work. Obviously, not good enough in my case. I let go of the remote, and continue to use my fist to cause damage to the screen. Once I run out of both adrenaline and stamina, I back away. The image is frightening. No, I'm not talking about the broken, smashed up TV which now lies on the floor. I'm talking about the reflection in the mirror. I see a girl who's blue-grey eyes are overcome by desperation and rage. Her hands are coated with her own blood, which spills out onto her clothes. For the first time, she has hurt herself, and doesn't feel any better for it.

…

I stand in my bathroom, peeling off my hoodie and sticking it in a shallow bath filled with cold water… that's supposed to soak stains from clothes, right? Who knows, I just hope that in the morning it will be as good as new. I fill the sink up with lukewarm water, and no soap. Once its filled, I carefully ease my shaking hands into the water, slowly and painfully. I hold my mouth open in pain as the sting travels through my hands, throbbing with pain. I watch as the blood slowly turns the once pure water a pink colour, I'm infecting it with my badness. I don't even attempt to wash the cuts properly, they hurt too much. They mainly just cover the bottoms of my fingers and my knuckles, where my hand made contact with the TV screen. I hear the house phone ring from the kitchen, and hesitantly pull my hands away from the water, which brings on a new wave of pane. I jog down the stairs, barely making it in time to reach the bleeping phone with my wet-bloodied hands.

"Hello?" I answer, almost sounding out of breath.

"Hey Tris, it's Four."

"Oh, hey Four, you okay?" I answer, well, I should have known. Who else bothers to ring the landline?

"Yeah, apart from the fact that it's a Sunday and I'm bored out of my mind," he laughs.

"Home alone?" I figured he would be at one of his friends houses or something, or he wouldn't care.

"Yep, your mom just came round to my house and they all left for that charity event. I was surprised to not see you there."

"Well, I suppose charity events aren't really my thing," that sounds kinda bad. They _should_ be my thing, but I suppose, like my mother says, I'm not selfless enough.

"Me neither, they get boring after your first 18 years of life."

"Wow, I can imagine," I lean my back against the wall, holding the phone between my ear and shoulder, feebly trying to pat my hands clean with a towel.

"So, since we're both doing nothing, want to hang out? I could come round to yours and watch a movie or something?" I suppose it would be nice to do something with a friend other than Lynn. I'm about to say yes, but then I remember what I did to the TV.

"Actually, my TV just kind of…broke," I admit, not wanting to let him know that I destroyed it with my bare hands during a fit of rage.

"Oh, that's okay, you can come round to mine, if you want?"

"Sure, I'll be there in 10," I'm about to hang up the phone when I hear him talk again.

"Do you not want me to pick you up?"

"Nah, I'll be fine, I'll just walk."

"Alright, see you then." I hang up the phone and race up the stairs. Should I find something different to wear? No, that's the kind of thing that you do when you go on a date. And this is definitely not a date, Four and I are just friends, right? I don't even want anything more than that. The whole time that I'm having this internal argument in my head, I somehow manage to change into a new pair of jeans and multi-coloured soft knitted sweater without even realising it. I suppose my subconscious has already made its mind up then. I slip on my shoes, grab my bag, phone and keys, and head out the door. It's a pleasant summer evening, my favourite time of the whole entire year. Honestly, when my mom told me that we were moving back to Chicago, I didn't expect this. I thought we'd be living in the city, surrounded by noisy cars, fumes and angry work people. But this, is very suburban. It's on the outskirts of Chicago, and everyone seems to know each other. I suppose that can sometimes be a bad thing, since neighbours gossip is common, but I chose to prefer it over the crowded city streets. I walk up Four's driveway, already feeling out of place, and bang the brass knocker. He opens the door, wearing sweatpants and a tight grey t-shirt, he also hasn't shaved, which only seems to make him look even better. No, stop it! My stupid subconscious, that seems to have a massive crush on Four, is driving me insane. "Come in," he says with a mouthful of food, jolting his head to gesture for me to walk in, I then see the slice of pizza in his hand. I walk past him, almost brushing my shoulder across his chest, and hesitantly walk into the living room. I didn't get a chance to look at it last time I was here, but it's pretty impressive, and also very different from my own house. The floor is polished wood, covered by a large plush rug. There are huge brown reclining sofas, with oak expensive looking furniture. The whole of the living room seems to be centred around the massive flat-screen TV that's hung up on the wall. "Kitchen's this way," he says from behind me, walking back into the hallway and into another room. The light is already on and music is playing in the background, so I can tell he's already been in this room, there's a pizza box on the side, with only a few slices left. "Help yourself," he nods to the pizza while he gathers another piece, shoving it into his mouth.

"I just ate, thanks," I feel shy, even though I don't want to admit it. I'm no good around new people, and Four and I are fairly new to one another. "How come you didn't go to the charity event?" I ask him, trying to not be awkward.

"Marcus used to make me go when I was under 18, but he doesnt really care what I do anymore. I couldnt think of anything worse than sitting next to him for an entire evening while making small talk with his equally pig-headed friends," he snorts, finishing off the pizza and throwing the box into the bin. He walks over to a coupbard, and starts to pull out various snacks and candy and mini cakes wrapped in plastic packaging. He grabs a huge bowl, and dunks it all in. There's enough food to feed a small army in this kitchen. Even though I work at the bakery, constantly handing out cakes and fattening treats, we never have any at home. My mom can't really afford to buy any since they're expensive, so we just get fruit and three meals a day. He holds out the bowl of potato chips to me, and I tentatively dip my hand in. Before I can grab one, though, Four's hand clamps around my wrist. I immediately pull back, not liking the contact, and my heart starts to race a little. I hate being touched like that, especially by strong men.

"Sorry," he notices that he startled me, but his furrowed brow remains. "It's just, your hands, what happened?" What do I tell him? That I suffered from an intense teenage temper tantrum? That I can't control my own anger, my own feelings? That I have a demon alter-ego/other personality called 'blade' who magically takes over my body and destroys everything in it's wake in hopes of world conquest?! No, how ridiculous, I couldn't get out of this one, not even with my wild imagination.

"It was an accident," _an accident?_ Suddenly the demon alter-ego idea doesn't sounds so bad… But, Four looks at me, with a sense of understanding that I did not at all expect.

"You know," he walks over to one of the cupboards, "I have a punch-bag in the basement down stairs," he pulls out a small box, filled with medical supplies. "It's much more effective using that to release your anger. Trust me, I know," he looks up at me, raising an eyebrow. I'm humiliated, so all I can do is avoid eye contact. "Sit," he gestures to one of the chairs at the large oak dining table, and I comply without saying a word. He pulls up a chair in front of me, pushing himself uncomfortably close to my legs, and sets the box out of the table, pulling out various different packets that all smell sterile like a hospital. He takes my right hand in his, examining it, running his long, deft fingers over mine. Even though they're just my hands, I suddenly feel very exposed. If you think about it, your hands are one of the most intimate things about yourself. You use them all the time, keep them personal to yourself, and every person's hands are unique. His hands are large and warm, although like any hard-working man's, they are calloused in places. Even considering his strength, they're not chunky or large in a way that is obtrusive. His fingers are long, yet sturdy, made for precise movements. They're just like the rest of him, lean yet strong and muscular. Quite perfect, actually. "Glass?" He asks, snapping me out of my wandering thoughts.

"Huh?" I stupidly reply, sounding dazed.

"Was it glass that cut your hand?" He looks at me without a wavering glance, waiting for my honest answer. I suppose I'm going to have to give it to him, he's earned it by taking care of me.

"TV screen," I look down at my lap biting my lip. I suppose now is his chance to look freaked out or back away. But he doesn't, he gets out an antiseptic wipe, cleaning my hands. I flinch every now and then at the persistent sting; I suppose I deserve it.

"These cuts are pretty deep, but they won't need stitches, they will most likely scar though." He begins wrapping my hands tightly in bandages.

"It's okay, scars don't bother me," I laugh a little bit, but all he does is frown at me. It's not a look of pity, more like he's reflecting the pain that's in my eyes.

Once I'm repaired, we gather the snacks and get situated in his living room, sitting comfortably on the plump leather sofa. I asked him where the DVD's were, but he informed me that he doesn't have any, all of his movies are digitally engrained in the TV somehow, so you're able to watch anything you want whenever you want. I didn't really understand the technical detail, only that it made me feel terribly behind the times. I have a few DVD's that my dad and brother sent me to watch on my laptop, but that's about it, since we lost our fancy TV and home entertainment recourses through the divorce. Four is pleased to know that chick flicks do not entertain me, so we settle on a classic action film, one that we have both already seen numerous times.

"What's the deal with Peter?" Four asks me, out of the blue.

"The asshole? What do you mean?" I pick at the chocolate that I'm eating.

"He walked over to you the other night at Faction Ave, you looked pretty mad," he smirks slightly, and I have a feeling he knows exactly what Peter wanted.

"I rejected him, and he didn't take it too well."

"No," Four laughs, "he never does."

"He's a dick, why do you hang out with him?"

"I don't really.. I like to think of it as him tagging along," he smirks a little.

"You do that a lot," I state.

"Do what?" He looks at me, bemused.

"Smirk."

"Got a problem with it?" He obviously smirks again, and I throw an M&amp;M in his face. He laughs and grabs onto it, popping it into his mouth, I roll my eyes in response. We continue to watch the corny and drastically unrealistic action flick before I can't take it anymore.

"As if he would survive all of that! It's like fifty against one! Wouldn't he run out of bullets by now?" I shriek at the screen.

"Hm," He pretends to be deep in thought, "I think I could do it."

"You? You could defeat an army with one gun?" I raise an eyebrow and he laughs.

"Yeah, why not? I could shoot a gun if I wanted too… it doesn't look too difficult."

"Riiight," I drag out. "On a serious note, I would definitely stand more of a chance than you would," this catcher his attention, and he looks at me intently.

"How so?" He asks.

"With my womanly charm of course. They're all men, I could easily distract them." At this he laughs out loud, and I lean over to swat his shoulder with my hand.

"You couldn't be charming if you tried!"

"Hey, that's not true! I could be charming if I wanted to…"

"Okay, say something charming then?"

"I'm not going to say it now, you're going to have to wait. I will allow my charm to sneak up on you when you least expect it."

"I'll look forward to the day," he says, while taking another swig of his beer. We continue to watch the rest of the movie, occasionally discussing nothing of great importance. When it's time for me to leave, I walk through his front door, waving goodbye. As I step down the pathway, marching down the grey, paved sidewalk, I ponder at my thoughts of today. I decide, numbness _is_ a feeling. It brings pain, confusion and loss. Without realising it, I have been numb. I numbed myself from life, from my existence. I have only learned this after today, when I experienced a feeling I thought was long-forgotten. Happiness.

* * *

**A/N- Thanks for the follows and reviews!**


	8. Drowning his sorrows

**A/N- Veronica Roth owns the Divergent characters, not me. **

**Here's another update for you guys, :)**

* * *

August 20th

_Tick, tock. Tick, tock. Tick, tock. Tick, tock. Tick, tock._ The incessant beat of the clock drums through the otherwise silent bakery. It's the afternoon on a wednesday, our least busiest time. I lean on the counter with my elbows, resting my head in my hands. Both Kyle and Becky are in the back of the bakery, discussing improvements to the paintwork around the shop front. Obviously, DIY is one of my lesser expertise's, so I am counted out of this particular conversation. I stare at the front door, willing for someone to walk in, just so that I have something to do. Since the whole front of the bakery is glass, we're not allowed on our phones because it looks unprofessional to people who are walking by. However, that doesn't stop me from sneaking a peak at my news feed while my phone hides in my large apron pocket. The back door swings open abruptly, and I nearly jump out of my skin. If Becky sees me on my phone, she will most definitely reprimand me. "Relax, it's just me," two hands clasp my shoulders, and I smell the cheap cologne that signifies Kyle.

"Do you think it's fun to sneak up on people?" I laugh, a little relieved.

"Sorry, I didn't realise that you wanted me to nock," he nudges me out of the way playfully with his hip, while sorting out the cash register.

"Well, it is the polite thing to do," I enjoy our sarcastic conversations, thankfully like myself, Kyle doesn't seem to take life too seriously.

"Well Ms. Prior, you should not be using your mobile phone while in the bakery! How unprofessional of you," he scolds me, slapping my wrist slightly. I gasp mockingly, then take his baseball cap off and turn it the wrong way around. He adjusts it so that it fits properly on his head.

"That's a cool look, you know, really down with the kids," I stifle a snigger.

"Well, at sixteen years old, I _am_ one of the kids," he raises an eyebrow at me. "So I guess you could say it just comes naturally to me."

"Ha! Yeah, it comes naturally to you alright," I smirk while obviously gazing my attention over his body. He's dressed lazily, in a black t-shirt, ill-fitting pants, and vans.

"Shut up! You love the look that I've got going on," he proudly presents himself, and I can't help but laugh at his childish grin.

"What? The sloppy skateboarder look? Yeah, I must admit, it turns me on."

"I knew it. I'll dress for you like this everyday, you won't be able to keep your hands off me!"

"No, but I'll try," I roll my eyes, shoving him away so that I can hang my cap and apron up. It's 3pm and I can finish my shift now that Kyle has started his.

"Off so soon?"

"Well, I'm not going to hang around when I don't need to, that's for sure."

"Aw, but I need someone to keep me company," he fake pouts, so I throw the newspaper at his face. "Ow!" he exclaims.

"That should keep you company. '50 ways to scrimp your shopping bill' sounds like an interesting article."

"Yeah, real interesting," he mutters.

"On a serious note, I really have got to go, I'm seeing Lynn tonight. I've been neglecting her for the bakery lately so she's not too happy with me."

"I think I'd rather stay here, she _scares_ me." At this I laugh, I can see how Lynn can be scary to other people who don't know her as well as I do. She is quite fierce looking, holding a strong stance and furrowed brow. Similar to someone else I know, Four.

"Hey, she's not that bad! Anyway, I'll see you tomorrow," I wave as I walk out the door, whilst Kyle shouts out his goodbye in reply. I step out of the bakery, breathing in the fresh air. You'd think it would be nice to work in a bakery, with the smell of cakes and cookies. However, the strong smell of coffee overpowers it, so it's nice to catch a break. I don't like coffee, never have. I suppose maybe I will when I'm older, but for know, I'll stick to tea and hot chocolate. Even though it's nearing late August, the weather is still warm, and wearing all black under the sun is torturous. I hope the weather is this nice on my birthday, but somehow it always seems to manage to rain. Soon enough, I find myself walking past Four's house, and I'm surprised to see his new white car sat in the driveway. Surely, he'd be at work on a wednesday afternoon? I don't know what in heaven's name wills me to do it, but I decide to walk up the driveway. Before I get to the door, I start to walk around in small circles. Should I stay and nock on the door? Or should I just leave? Butterflies grow in my stomach, why the hell do I have to be so goddamn awkward?! But, he probably won't even want to see me anyway. I mean, we've known each other, what, a couple of weeks? Sure, we had a great night on Sunday, but that doesn't mean that he wants me constantly bugging him. I stop in my tracks and take a deep breath, running my tongue along my teeth. In the end, I decide to grow some balls and walk up to his front door. I'm just stopping in, that's what friends do, right? The only knowledge and experience I have of friends is Lynn, and she seems to think it's okay to crawl up the trellis on my house and fall through my window. So, I conclude that nocking on his door will be socially acceptable. I nock once, but as soon as my fist hits the wood, the door creaks open. It's not locked. I push it open slightly with my finger tips, listening to it creak even more. The lights are off but I can hear quiet music playing in the background. Soft, sad music, not hard rock or manly rap music. What if they've been broken in? Maybe Four didn't take his car to work today... but I'm sure a burglar wouldn't be listening to music and jamming it out while shoving the families prized possessions into a knapsack. I take a step backwards and look up at the house, there are lights on upstairs. I decide to walk in the house, presuming (and I'll admit, hoping) that Four is upstairs. If I run in with a burglar, I can always scream at the top of my lungs and run back out of the house again. Perfect plan. The house has an eery feel to it, as per usual. Although it is wonderfully decorated and homely, it just doesn't feel _lived_ in, or enjoyed. I move over to the staircase, grasping onto the bannister with my quivering hand.

"Hello? Four?" I timidly shout, projecting my voice up to the second floor. As I unfortunately expected, there's no reply. I silently creep up the stairs, feeling the bottomless pit in my stomach grow. The stairs creak slightly, and I grit my teeth, trying to be as soundless as I possibly can. God knows what I'm walking in on. When I finally reach the landing, the music becomes louder. There's only one light on, and it's coming from the crack in Four's bedroom door. As I slowly walk up to it, I mentally chastise myself. I don't even know what I'm doing, creeping around his house like this. If he opened that door now, he'd probably think I was a weirdo. Anyway, can't this be classed as breaking and entering? I suppose the door was open…no! Stop it! This is wrong on so many levels. But when I reach his bedroom door, that's open slightly ajar, I lean my head in to listen to what's going on inside. All I hear is the music, and a grumbling, moaning noise. I take a deep gulp, and move my head to get a peak into his bedroom, and my heart leaps out of my chest at the sight. All I made out was the sight of Four's back, he was lying face down on the bed wearing only his boxers. I clasp my hands over my mouth to contain my gasp. Oh shit.

"Huh? Who's that?" Four's deep voice rumbles. Did I just say that out loud?! I panic and immediately but quietly start to creep my way back down the stairs, I can't believe that I just nearly walked in on Four having sex. Crap! What the hell was I thinking? Didn't I have any common sense? I can't believe the shit that I manage to get myself in to. I wish I was normal. When I'm about halfway down the stairs, I feel the light from Four's room getting brighter, and realise he must have opened his door. The heat rises on my face and my eyes go wide. This whole situation just got ten times worse, if that was even possible. I freeze on the stairs, gripping onto the bannister. I scrunch my face up and wish for death to take me right here, right now. I want to curl up into a ball and roll out of his house like an armadillo. Is that even possible? Maybe if I try and bend my legs…

"Tris?" His gruff voice barely mumbles. I heave a deep breath and hold the back of my hand to my forehead; I cannot believe me of all people, has been placed in this awful scenario. But, I wasn't placed in it. I, yet again, managed to do this to myself. What was I thinking? Breaking and entering! I don't even know Four that well, why would he even want me here? My further reasoning goes out of the window, and I now understand that this is all very, very wrong.

"Tris? That you?" Four repeats, his voice sounds kind of…off. I gulp and slowly turn around, only to be met with the image of Four leaning against the wall at the top of the stairs, standing in white boxer briefs. My face heats up even more as I skim my eyes over his body. Oh my. I know I'm supposed to be mortified right now, but my inner teenage girl takes a leap for joy when I see his tanned, defined muscles. How the hell did he get so..buff? He looks like a poster model right now for the brand of boxers that he's wearing. My eyes follow the line of dark hair above his boxers before I snap myself out of it and try to screw my head back on. He shifts his gaze and looks directly at me, frowning slightly. He pulls away from the wall and almost stumbles, what the hell is going on.

"I'm sorry, I-I should go," I stammer, turning around to head back down the stairs. Then I hear a loud thud. I turn around to see Four lazily sat on the floor, his head swaying to the side. He's drunk. "Four? You okay?" I cautiously walk back up the stairs, his eyes are trained on the floor. I nudge his hard bicep slightly, but he doesn't really respond to me. Then I look into his bedroom, and see that there is no one on the bed. Although I heave a slight sigh of relief at the fact that I did not walk in on a steamy love session between Four and an unknown female, I don't know which is worse. That, or walking in on him practically naked and drunk at three-thirty in the afternoon. As I continue to stare into his bedroom, trying to gather my thoughts, I feel a strong warm hand wrap around my ankle. Initially, I flinch at the contact, but then see that Four is looking up at me with clouded eyes.

"Tris, what are you doing here," he says, sounding breathless, while running his hand up and down my calf.

"I was on my way back from work. How much have you had to drink?" I ask, while crouching down so that I'm eye level with him.

"I feel too, too wasted," he starts to groan and close his eyes, leaning his head back against the wall.

"Have you taken anything else? Have you just drank alcohol?"

"Yes. I'm not a druggy like you," he slurs. He smiles lazily, but then opens his eyes slightly to look at me, "I'm sorry, I didn't…I didn- didn't mean that," he hiccups.

"I'll forgive you in the morning," I say sarcastically, while rolling my eyes. "Come on, you need to get in bed," I pull on his arm to try and lift him off the floor, but he's about twice the size of me so it isn't proving to be very successful. He grabs both of my hands and pulls me towards him, I let out a surprised shriek and fall on top of his bare chest. I almost laugh, finding the situation funny, until I smell his breath which is thick with the smell of alcohol. It brings back bad memories, and I remember what I'm here to do. I need to get him into bed and walk out of here, back home. I'm not here to mess around with a drunk Four, who must obviously be depressed about something to be drowning his sorrows at this hour. "Four, get up," I command, "now." I tug on his arms harshly and he heaves himself off the ground, stumbling towards the stairs. I wrap my arm around his waist to stop him from falling, I succeed, but then notice how I'm nearly touching his ass. Ugh, calling this awkward would be an understatement. I pull him in towards his bedroom, ripping the covers back on his bed and pushing him onto it. When I do this, he grabs my hips with his hands and smiles up at me. His drunken state is clearly misinterpreting the situation. I bite the inside of my cheek, and pull his hands away from me. "I'm here to put you to bed, that's it." He laughs a little bit at my remark, before leaning his body back on the bed, sideways, with his legs still hanging over the edge.

"I know, I know," he slurs. I walk over to his sound system and turn off the CD. I also shut his curtains, and see the two liquor bottles that he's had a good go at on his bedside table. I pick them up and walk into his bathroom, pouring the corrosive liquid down the drain. I hate what it does to people. When I walk back in, Four's eyes are closed. I grab his waste bin, and place it next to the bed incase he needs to throw up. After drinking all that, he most likely will. There's a glass in his bathroom, so I fill it up with tap water and set it down next to his bed. Then I grab his legs, and shift them so that he's lying on the bed properly. When I look back up at him, his eyes are slightly open, and he's watching everything that I do. I cover him up with the sheet, trying to avoid eye contact, but he holds onto my hand. I sit down on the edge of the bed next to him, while he messily plays with my fingers. I take the time to examine his facial features, I've never had a chance to stare at him before.

"Why did you do this to yourself," I whisper under my breath, and he continues to stare at me through hooded eyes. I can still see the deep blue colour, although it's now slightly clouded. "You have beautiful eyes," I barely make out, "don't ruin them with alcohol." He furrows his brows slightly, before taking his hand away and turning around on the bed, so that his back faces me. I take this as my cue to leave, and get up off the bed. When I reach the doorway, I hear him whisper "you have beautiful everything." My heart skips a beat, but then I remind myself that it's the alcohol talking. When I leave the house, and walk back to my own, the sensible part of me begs that he won't remember a single thing of this in the morning. But another, less discovered part of me holds onto the hope that he will remember. Remember the fact that I helped him, and remember the words that he left me with.

…

"I just don't get why he would be drunk at three in the afternoon," Lynn says, while munching on a fresh apple. The sound of the juicy flesh snapping is enough to break me out of my daydream.

"Wha-?" I say, sounding heavily dazed. My apple still sits on the counter of my kitchen, untouched.

"Four, drunk, in the afternoon," Lynn widens her eyes and shakes her head in a frustrated manner.

"Oh, yeah," I sigh deeply, "Just promise you won't tell anyone? I should have kept it a secret."

"No, you should tell me because I'm your best friend!"

"I suppose," I pick up my apple and start to eat it, although I've lost my appetite.

"So, what do you think was up with him?"

"I have no idea. I doubt he has a drinking problem, it was probably just a one time thing."

"Yeah," Lynn scoffs, "that's what they all say."

"I mean it, I've never seen him like that before. And if he _was_ like that, then I'm sure Marcus would know, and Marcus would tell my mom."

"If Marcus knew, I'm pretty sure it would be his most shameful secret. And people keep their most shameful secrets hidden," Lynn smirks but I don't find it funny. There's obviously something up with Four, and he doesn't need to be gossiped about.

"Lynn, just quit it. There's nothing wrong with him. Even if there was, it's not that big of a deal."

"Okay, okay," she holds her hands up defensively, getting up off the barstool and throwing her apple core in the bin. "But, there's one thing that I don't understand about this story. Why were you in his house in the first place?" I twiddle my thumbs, hoping to avoid the question. However, Lynn is persistent, so there's no avoiding this one.

"The door was open, so I just…"

"No way! You totally just barged in?" She lets out a deep laugh, clutching her stomach, "this is hilarious! Trust poor little you to get yourself into stupid situations like this!"

"You're never going to let this one go, are you?"

"Nope, never." She picks up her jacket and shrugs it on, while grabbing the keys to her van, "but I'm going to leave you alone for know, you probably need a good nights sleep." She winks at me and pats me on the shoulder, leaving out the front door. When she's gone, I let my head drop into my hands and release the loud groan that I was holding in. Today has been one heck of a day, and my head is banging. I get two painkillers out of the bedroom drawer, and pour myself a glass of water. Once I've swallowed them, I head up to bed, getting myself comfortable under the soft covers. Even though Lynn seemed to find the whole story entertaining, I did not. I keep thinking about the evident pain in Four's eyes. He seemed like such a strong person, almost unbreakable. But, I should have known better. None of us are unbreakable. We each have our downfalls and sorrows. The things that make us tick, and the guilty pleasures that tide us over until we see better days. Four is only human, after all. I don't know how I'm going to move on from this, he probably won't even want to see me again. If that's the case, then I suppose I'm going to have to be okay with it._Tick, tock. Tick, tock. Tick, tock. Tick, tock. Tick, tock._ I fall asleep to the sound of my clock.

* * *

**Thanks for the favs, follows and the reviews that some of you took the time to write, it means a lot to me and I'm glad people are reading this story, please continue :)**

**I'm not really happy with the summery for 'Jaded' but I can't think how to describe this story. **

**Until next time! **


	9. High on Hope

**A/N- I don't own anything, all rights go to Veronica Roth. **

* * *

August 23rd**  
**

"I actually think my parents may kill me," Lynn sighs.

"Don't be so melodramatic! They love you, they just want what's best for you," I reassure her. Even though we're talking on the phone and I can't see her facial expression, I know she probably has her signature scrunched up brows and screwed up lips.

"They don't want what's best for _me_, Tris. They want what's best for them. For me to look good on paper."

"I think you'd look pretty good on paper…"

"Shut up," she fails at holding back her laughter. "Look, what I mean is that I am a disappointment to them and they aren't afraid of letting me know about it. They want me to go to college and study something for a solid career. I mean, not even medicine or law, just something mediocre and average so that I can blend in with the rest of the population. Then, in my third year of college, they want me to come home with a wholesome American man and announce our profound love for each other. And another couple of years after that, they'll expect my engagement. They'll hope that I can tell them the good news over a hearty thanksgiving dinner, where my mother will show me how to make the perfect pumpkin pie for the two perfect children that she'll expect me to reproduce. A boy and a girl, named 'Michael' and 'Samantha', whom I will raise religiously and with a stern hand. Basically, they want me to be completely unexceptional and unsurprising." My body shakes with laughter, Lynn's wild imagine will never fade.

"Come on, they expect a little more than _that_, surely. Why can't they send you to art school? Then at least you're still carrying on your education."

"Art school?" Lynn sighs, "I wish. There's no way that they could afford that. Hector's just gotten braces, and they used up what was left of my college fund on Shauna, when she switched courses and had to pay extra."

"You can make it. I know you can."

"It's cute how much faith you have in me Tris. But I know it's not gonna happen. I'll be working at Burger Barn for the rest of my life."

"You don't even work at Burger Barn."

"I was just saying, you know, an example of what my life will be like. Anyway, I gotta go, Hec needs a ride to football practice. I'll see you tonight, yeah?"

"Yeah, bye." I hang up the phone and flop back down on my bed. Only three days left until my birthday. Then I'm 18 years old. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't hoping for my father to contact me perhaps via phone call, rather than just sending a signed birthday card, but I know that I'm hoping for nothing. But, what's left in this world if none of us can hope, right? It's stupid. I should just forget about my dad and my brother. But I don't want to. I want to see them. But I can't. I roll over so that my head is buried in my pillow and let out a frustrated growl, why does life have to be so complicated when you've only been on the planet for less than 18 years? Surely, I haven't earned all it's complications yet, have I? I thought childhood was supposed to be carefree, full of fun and lack of responsibility, the best time of your life. Now I think that theory is most definitely wrong, although it should be right. I've just spent the past half hour talking to Lynn and her lack of ideas and direction for the future, but what about mine? What am I going to do? It's a terrorising thought. I can't work at that stupid bakery for the rest of my life, earning less than minimum wage. But, what else will I do? What am I good at? Who the hell knows. I don't even think I'm good at _anything_, not by career standards anyway. Before my thoughts can drift off into much darker places, I hear the front door open and slam. The signature noise of keys being dropped on the side table, signifying my mother's presence in the household. Her footsteps sound careful as she climbs the stairs, and all too soon I'm met by the sight of her contorted face.

"What?" I say, a little too sharply.

"Do you want to explain to me why the television is no longer on the television stand? Would you like to explain to me why it is sat on our front yard, shattered into hunks of glass?" She taps her foot impatiently on my carpeted floor. The other night I moved the ruined TV to our front lawn, hoping someone would pick it up and take it away.

"Seriously? It's been like, three days. How have you not noticed it yet?"

"I've been working nights, Beatrice. It's the first time that I've stepped out in pure daylight, only to be met with the sight of that." She gives me an expression that means she wants an answer, and she wants it now.

"We," (the TV) "had a sort of…disagreement." I smirk a little, I think the whole thing is quite entertaining now. I hated that stupid rustic television anyway.

"_Disagreement_?" she seethes.

"Yeah, that's what I said, at least I think that's what I-"

"Enough! Enough of your smart mouth! Enough of your temper! Enough of your attitude! _I've_. _Had_. _Enough_." My mother starts to tremble, and I bite down on the inside of my cheek, inching my body a little closer to the wall that I sit up against. "I'm not replacing it. If you want a new one, you'll have to pay for it yourself," her voice is quieter, more lethargic, and she shrugs her shoulders and holds up her hands in weak exasperation. Her and I both know, we're not going to have a new television for quite some time.

…

Lynn and I sit in front of the mirror in my bedroom, on the floor. She's backcombing her hair, or should I say, the side of her head that has hair on it. I am applying a meagre amount of makeup. Tonight, as you have probably guessed, we're going to Faction Avenue. Lynn says that once I turn eighteen, a 'friend' that she knows is going to make me a fake ID, and then we can start going to a real clubs and bars. I don't know if that is a good or bad idea.

"You look hot in that outfit," Lynn says. Her face is pulled into a funny expression while she applies mascara.

"Thanks," I look down at myself, black high-waisted jeans and a crop top. I suppose I am showing more of my figure than usual.

"Planning on impressing anyone?" She gives me a knowing look and nudges me playfully.

"I don't know what you're talking about," I pretend to ignore her while I route through my makeup bag, looking for my brown eyeliner.

"I think you do. Come on, I'll give you to the count of _four_ to admit it to me," she winks and begins to laugh at her lame joke, but is cut off by my hands pushing her to the ground.

"I'm not trying to impress anyone." I grunt, but she still shrugs me off. Once we look decent, we grab our bags and head for the front door. I don't bother telling my mom where we're going. I never do. We sit in Lynn's van and belt up, whist she leans over to the glove compartment, pulling out a bottle of water and a suspicious looking box. Out of the box, she pulls out a white pill and swallows it with the water. I don't ask questions. As usual, my stomach flips and my heart rate goes a little faster whilst we're on our way there. I wonder if I'll ever stop being so socially awkward, or if it's just a part of my permanent personality. I hear the familiar sound of distant loud music and the sign of an empty car park, meaning it's a busy Saturday night. People leave their cars at home, catching a taxi home so that they are free to down as much alcohol as possible.

We walk into Faction ave, side by side. Lynn said that we were meeting Uriah and Marlene, but I know that the other group will be here also. They always are. We see Marlene and Uriah, who are sat well away from the bar. Their faces light up when they see us, and Uriah waves a hand for us to come over. We're about to walk over there until my eyes wander over to the bar, where I see Four stood with his friends. My stomach writhes, I've not seen or heard from him since that awful day where I witnessed him drunk out of his mind. A second later, he meets my gaze, giving me an expressionless look. I want to talk to him. I aimlessly start to walk in his direction, not taking my eyes off his.

"Hey!" Lynn grabs onto my arm, but I don't look at her. "Where are you going?"

"To see Four."

"Are you serious! Come sit with us," I keep my eye contact with Four, and begin to walk forward, despite Lynn's objection.

"I'll catch you later," I say to her, distantly. I don't think she heard me. When I approach the small yet intimidating group, they all go quiet and Shauna starts to stare daggers at me. What's her problem? The look that she gives me burns through my skull and everyone else stays quiet, including Four.

"Are you lost?" She coos to me, her voice filled with fake concern and patronisation. "The kiddie table is over there," she points over to Lynn, Marlene and Uriah, who are also giving me dirty looks. This was a bad idea.

"I'm not a kid," I say sternly. Thankfully, my deeper than average voice makes me sound serious and steady, even when I'm not.

"Well," she eyes me up and down in a malicious manner. "You still certainly look like one," a couple of the others snigger.

"Shut the fuck up Shauna," I'm surprised to hear Four growl. He never shouts, instead, his voice seems to go quieter. It works, he sounds like someone who you wouldn't want to mess with. In fact, he sound like someone who I would run ten miles from.

"Don't tell me what to do, Four." She sneers back at him.

"When you're being a cow I'll tell you whatever I want," he leans away from the bar, and moves past the girl with dark hair, Christina, to get to where I'm standing. Shauna clenches her jaw and fiddles with her straw, dipping it in and out of her drink. Everyone else stares down at the floor. Four grabs onto my arm, harshly, and drags me round to a secluded corner.

"Hey!" I tug my arm away from me, he fingers springing free. "Don't drag me around like that!"

"Damn it Tris, what is it?" His voice sounds angry. I don't like it.

"I-I just wanted to speak with you," he's making me stammer and I could kill him for it. I hate how he has this effect on people, it's like he could scare an entire army.

"About?" He lifts his eyebrow impatiently, and leans against the wall. Folding his arms across his chest, which makes the muscles in his arms stand out even more.

"The other day.." suddenly I don't feel like talking about it, he obviously doesn't want to.

"What about the other day?" He continues to stare me down, and I feel my cheeks warm…what if he doesn't remember? But there would be no other explanation for him to be acting this way.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt you and your friends," I start to walk past him, "I'll just, go," I say a little quietly.

"I remember what you did," he says, and then turns around to face me again. I stop in my tracks. "Why were you there? In my house?"

"The door, it was open, I just-"

"Decided to waltz in anyway? Didn't your parents ever teach you anything?"

"Don't talk about my parents," I snap, viciously.

"Well, I hope you got what you wanted."

"What? Four, I didn't walk in there to embarrass you. How the hell would I know what was going on?"

"I'm not embarrassed. I think you ought to be the embarrassed one."

"Oh really? Why is that?" I'm starting to get really irritated. Who is this guy, and what has he done with the Four who bandaged up my hands and watched movies with me?

"For walking in on me when I clearly wanted to be alone," he shakes his head angrily. "What if I had a girl round?"

"Then I guess I would have gotten a good show," I swallow thickly, and shake my head a little too vigorously. I'm fighting back the anger that's spreading to every inch of my body. I can't lose my cool in front of him. I just can't. That would give him what he wants. It would make him the winner. He expects me to lose my cool, just like anyone else does. Count to ten. One…Two…Three...

"You seemed to have gotten a good enough one anyway." That does it. I've had it.

"Oh will you shut _up_?! I went in there, and helped you. That's it. Stop trying to make up for your moment of vulnerability by acting all manly and intimidating and by being mean to me! That's all you're doing, being _mean_." He stares at me with his lips parted, if I didn't know any better I would say he looks kind of shocked. He continues to stare at me, his brows no longer furrowed. I storm away, leaving him stood in the same spot, and walk straight out of the building.

The bitter, clammy night air hits me like a brick wall. I hear the doors open behind me. "Just leave me alone!" I thought I was shouting at Four, but come face-to-face with Lynn. "Oh, sorry. I thought you were someone else."

"Someone else?" She looks like she swallowed something foul tasting. "Four, do you mean? Don't act like I don't know any of your business Tris. What was all that about? Why did you just ditch us like that?"

"_Ditch_ you? I'm sorry, I forgot that we were still thirteen." I spit sarcastically, but Lynn doesn't return it.

"When are you ever going to grow out of that?"

"Grow out of what?"

"Your stupid smart-mouth." Ouch. At least my mom and Lynn agree on one thing. The fact that I'm not a very nice person. But I don't want to be that horrible person anymore. I want people to like me and be friends with me. After my tense interaction with Four, I now know how it feels to be spoken to in that way. If I'm ever going to grow up and be successful, or even just be happy, I need to change.

"I'm sorry," My body slumps and collapses on the hard ground, my hands by my feet, my head in-between my knees. "I'm so sorry." I hear Lynn sigh, then she joins me on the cold floor. Lynn and I can't stay mad at each other for long. We can't even argue for more than a couple of minutes. She wraps her arm around my shoulders and leans her head against mine.

"I know you are."

* * *

**Thank you so much to those of you who have favourited and have written a review. It ****really helps out a lot and I am very appreciative of your support for continuing to follow and read this story. **

**Thanks to the guest reviews who I can't reply to directly. **

**DatFangirl: I love your amazing reviews, you always have so much to say and it encourages and helps me out! I won't be writing anything in Four's point of view, the story will be told in Tris' point of view throughout. Four's voice doesn't really fit this story, and I want it to mainly be about her. I may decide to write some separate Four one-shots when I finish the story however, who knows! **

**Please continue your support, I'll see you all next time! :D**


	10. Juvenile Birthday

**A/N- Divergent rights belong to Veronica Roth**

* * *

August 26th 

"Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to Tri-is, happy birthday to you!" Lynn's out-of-tune voice sings to me down the phone, ringing through my ears.

"I can't believe I'm eighteen," I sigh, whilst fiddling with the birthday card in my hand that I got from my dad and brother. It's a pretty card, with a bright bunch of pink flowers on the front covered in glitter, the bright purple "Happy 18th Birthday' words dominate the page. The card is signed in what I presume to be my father's handwriting, as Caleb's name is written in a different hand. His writing his fancy and professional, with sharp curls at the end of each letter. There was a hundred dollar bill placed inside, which I have tucked away in my jewellery box to save. I don't know what I'm saving for, but I've never had a hundred dollar bill before so I don't want to spend it.

"Cheer up will you," Lynn interrupts me from my reverie. "We're going to celebrate tonight!"

"What are we doing?" I honestly just feel like staying inside and reading a book, but Lynn would never let me do that.

"We're going out with Marlene and Uriah if that's okay? We'll go somewhere other than Faction Ave, can't be assed dealing with the others," when she says 'others', my mind automatically thinks about Four. I know that I shouldn't let his bad attitude affect me, and I should just forget about him now. But I still want to see him on my birthday. Something must be seriously wrong with me. I guess I like seeking out pain.

"No problem. What time are you picking me up?"

"Oh, I'm picking you up am I? You're very high maintenance," she laughs down the phone.

"Call me high maintenance again I can't guarantee that I won't slap you."

"Whatever! I'm picking you up at nine, be ready!"

"Wait, where are we-" I'm interrupted by Lynn hanging up on me. I was going to ask her where are we going and what should I wear, but looks like I'm going to get a surprise. It's only two pm now, so my mom should be back any minute. She was on an early shift this morning at the hospital so she left before I woke up. I still haven't gotten out of bed yet, for some reason, I always feel down on my birthday. Perhaps it's because the day is a reminder of how another year has passed without me achieving anything. Or that I'm one step closer to becoming an adult with responsibilities that I am in no way ready to handle. I eventually decide to wander downstairs and flick on the small portable TV that we have in the kitchen. It has pretty crappy signal, and only has about five channels, but I suppose it's better than nothing. I sit on the bar stool and stick my feet up on the table, while my hand reaches into the cereal box that's sitting on my lap. I'm wearing a large t-shirt, and get a chance to look at my bare legs…which I really should shave. However, at least for once, they're not pale. I hear the latch on the door open, and the sound of keys hitting the side table, I pull my legs down from the counter in record time.

"I see you!" My mom slaps my legs with the rolled up newspaper in her hands, "no feet on the table! How many times do I have to tell you?"

"Sorry," I mumble, my mouth full of cereal. She walks up to me and kisses me on the forehead.

"Happy birthday sweetie," she walks over to the end cupboard and pulls out a box and a package wrapped in brown paper. "Here you go," she smiles as she gives me the package.

"Mom, you didn't have to get me anything," I accept it off her and place it down on the counter. She puts the white box next to it, and lifts the lid off to reveal a small birthday cake covered in white icing, with happy birthday written across the top. There are three beautiful white butterflies made out of icing, they look as though they're taking flight away from the cake. It's pretty. "That looks so good, thank you!"

"Well, we haven't had cake since your last birthday. It's sponge with vanilla icing, Kathy from work made it for you." She closes the lid again and places the box in the fridge for later. Then she walks back to the counter, leaning against it and shoving the brown package towards me, "open your present!" I smile at her and greedily rip the brown paper open, revealing a pair of red and white plaid flannel pyjamas. They're super soft and look really warm, I slip the pants on immediately.

"Thank you so much, these are amazing!." They feel warm and comforting, pyjamas are my favourite clothes.

"Do they fit?" she asks, smiling at me, while running her hand along the material.

"Yeah, they're super comfortable. Thanks mom," I lean in and envelope her in a tight hug.

"You're welcome. I figured you needed some decent pyjamas since all you seem to be wearing lately is these worn out tshirts!" she tugs on the big t-shirt that I'm currently sporting, yeah, it has a few holes in it but still does the job!

"I do, I can't wait to sleep in these tonight."

"Good, well, we'll light the candle on your cake later, but first I've got to go pack."

"Pack?" I take the pyjamas off and fold them back up again.

"Yes, did I not tell you, I'm going away with Harold tonight. Just to accompany him on his business trip, I'll be back tomorrow night."

"No, you didnt tell me," I sigh, "Harold? Is this the same guy that you've been seeing?"

"Yes it is, he's very nice actually. We're staying in a hotel in the city centre, we're going to see a play tonight. You don't mind, do you? I figured you would want your space since it's your eighteenth. You can have people round here, but no mess and no boys!" She raises her eyebrow at me, giving me 'the look'. By saying 'no boys', what she really means is 'no sex'. Well, she certainly doesn't have to worry about that.

"No mom, it's fine. Have a good time, I'm just seeing Lynn tonight."

"Alright, well, I best get my things sorted out!" She walks upstairs, leaving me and my box of cereal in the kitchen alone.

…

Lynn ended up coming round to my house a couple of hours later. She did the birthday cake with me and my mom, before we all left the house. She gave me a card and a new CD that I wanted, we're currently sat in her camper van in her driveway listening to it. So far, it's shaping up to be a pretty relaxing birthday.

"I hope you don't mind chilling in my van all day, my parents are at home and they would just be screaming at us to keep the noise down."

"No, it's cool. I couldnt stand one more minute in that house anyway. It's nice to get out." I tie the laces that have come undone on my shoes. "Where are we going tonight?" I ask.

"Well, let's just say we're having a little camping trip, Chicago style."

"Chicago style?" I raise a questioning eyebrow.

"Yeah, me and Marlene found a few empty fields just outside the city. There's no light pollution there so we'll be able to see the stars pretty clearly. We'll also be able to blast the music and spark a couple doubies."

"Sounds good to me!" I stick my feet up on the dashboard as we continue to sing along to the tracks on the CD. We talk about our crazy ideas for the future, and go over various memories from when we were growing up. I still can't believe that I'm eighteen years old now, I still feel (and look) about fourteen. Although over the past few weeks I've noticed my hips and thighs have gained a bit of weight, which I am happy about. I suppose my body has more softness than it used to. If the clothes that I wore were more sophisticated, I suppose I could probably pass for my age. When it gets to about seven-thirty, Lynn decides to call Uriah and Marlene, and tell them that we're ready to head off. Uriah's SUV pulls up outside Lynn's house, and he jumps out wearing a black ninja suit, complete with mask. I let out a hysterical laugh and so does Lynn, Marlene carries a shameful look across her face, although she can't keep the small smirk at bay. These guys are crazy, and I love it.

"What-" Lynn tries to get out between breaths, "the hell-" she laughs again, "are you wearing?" Uriah smirks and kicks his foot out, flailing his arms around in the air in attempt to imitate ninja-like moves.

"I'm a ninja, can't you tell?" He turns to look at me through the gap in his mask for his eyes, "happy birthday Tris! I thought I'd put some effort into my attire for this evening," he gestures to his suit, wiggling his eyebrows. We all continue to laugh, and Lynn slaps him on the back.

"I told him no, but he insisted!" Marlene says, "happy birthday Tris, get anything good?" She hands me a card and wrapped present.

"I got some money of my dad and new PJ's," I take the card and present of her, "thanks, you didn't need to get me anything though."

"Oh sush! It's from me and Uriah. Open it now!" She smiles at me and I begin to open the card, it's got a joke on the front about how old I'm getting, and the inside is signed by both Marlene and Uriah. I impatiently tear open the paper for the present, to reveal a soft silk scarf with a paisley turquoise pattern.

"Wow, this is so soft," I run my hands across the material and drape it around my neck. "Thank you, It's perfect."

"No problem!" Uriah says, "come on, let's get going. We can get a burger on the way."

…

We travelled for about half an hour in the pitch black, until we reached a large field surrounded by trees. There are no lights around except for the moon and stars, so we have to trust the headlights on our cars to illuminate the area. We park in what looks to be a good spot in the middle of the field, and Lynn slides the side doors of her van open, turning the inside lights on. We set up a few chairs outside and Uriah sets up the music. We brought plenty of snack food, and we decide to play various card games, in between gazing at the magnificent view of the stars. We all have a joke and dance around, while consuming a fair amount of alcohol. I feel pretty drunk right now, and I'm presuming everyone else does too. The chilly night hair doesn't even effect me anymore, I feel invincible.

"Tris," Uriah asks me in an up-beat tone, "are you and Four fuck buddies?" I almost spit out my drink over everyone, choking on the burning liquor. Marlene laughs and pats my back firmly until I calm down. That was certainly a question that I wasn't expecting.

"No! He's just a friend, what makes you think that?" I shriek, my voice higher pitched than usual.

"Well, you both seem pretty close, and you could cut the sexual tension with a knife."

"Yeah!," Lynn interjects, "we all feel like we have to leave the room when you two are together!"

"He's pretty sexy though," says Marlene, "I wouldnt blame you if you wanted to get into his pants."

"Well," I reply, "I'm sorry to disappoint, but I don't want to get into his pants. I mean, come on, I still look like a fucking twelve year old and I swear he could pass for twenty-five!"

"Oh shush!" Marlene laughs, "you're hot as fuck Tris. But I mean, you are like a whole foot shorter than him, so..." She starts to put her fingers together, demonstrating two people, "how would that work?" She starts to giggle and Lynn laughs, nearly falling off her seat. Uriah wipes a non-existent tear from his eye and leans his chair over to Marlene, grabbing her fingers.

"I think it's more like this," he moves one finger on top of the other, and slides them against each other. "Or maybe it would be better if you were on top Tris?" He goes to flip her fingers around but I lean over and break them apart, thankful that they won't be able to see the raging blush on my cheeks in this light.

"Will you stop it!" I shout, but my words are slurred. "Four doesn't even like me anyway. He seemed pretty mad the last time that I spoke to him."

"Nah," Uriah smiles. "That's just how guys act when they want to get into your pants."

"Alright, alright!" Lynn giggles, while walking into her van and routing through the drawers. She reappears holding a joint and shoving a little bag into her pocket, "that's enough with the teasing! Let's have some real fun! You can have the honour of lighting up Tris, since it's your birthday." She hands me the joint and a lighter, I light it up and take a drag before handing it back to her. She smokes it a few times, and offers it to Uriah and Marlene who kindly refuse.

"The alcohol is enough for me thanks," Uriah says, while taking another swig of his beer. Suddenly, his face goes from being warm and content, to looking like he's at death's door. "Oh shit, is that?" He gets up off his chair, "fuck, look!" He points in the direction of the other end of the field, where we see flashing lights approach us. Police. "Fucking hell Lynn! You better hide that shit! We're out of here!" He grabs Marlene's hand and drags her towards his SUV, however the police car has sped up a considerable amount and is now a few feet away. All I can do is sit frozen in my seat, we didn't do anything wrong, did we? Of course we did.

"Crap, come here," Lynn grabs the joint out of my hand, stuffs it into a cigarette box and launches it across the field. "Act sober!" she tells me. Her voice sounds panicked and instantly unaffected by the drugs and alcohol. Soon enough, the police car pulls up and two male officers step out.

"Good evening kids!" One of the tall officers bellows, his voice is deep and overly confident. "What we doing out here?" We all stare at them in silence, our faces illuminated with the headlights of the police car. Our visible breaths forming clouds in front of our faces in the night air. "You kids can't talk or something? Want to explain to me why you're setting up camp on private property?"

"We're sorry Sir," Lynn speaks up while the rest of us stay silent. "We were just celebrating my friends birthday. We thought that these were abandoned fields. We didn't mean to cause any trouble, so we'll just be on our way now-"

"Oh, you're not going anywhere," the officer spits. He's scary and intimidating. My knees are shaking and I feel like my heart is going to jump out of my throat. I might just choke on it if it beats any faster. "I wouldn't say that drugs and anti-social behaviour is what you call avoiding trouble." He walks up to her and begins to pat her down.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Lynn swats the officer away and jumps back, with an angered look spread across her face. I am paralysed.

"Assaulting an officer? That's not avoiding trouble either!" The other officer finally speaks up. His voice is high pitched for a male's, and If I weren't in this daunting situation, I would probably laugh. He continues to watch over the rest of us, before muttering in a quiet voice for us to put our hands up. I lift my hands away from my body and hold them up in the air, in line with my shoulders. They're obviously shaking like the rest of me. He shines his flash light on each of our faces, the blinding light causing me to turn away. The first officer continues to pat Lynn down, before reaching into her pocket and pulling out a bag of weed, "well look what we got here," he sighs and shakes his head. I feel like collapsing on the floor, Lynn has gotten herself into deep shit. There's about 5 grams of weed in that bag, she won't get away with this one. Lynn continues to look at the floor, gritting her teeth. I start to wonder if it helps to cry in situations like this, if it makes them go easy on us. But I don't think I could force tears out even if I tried.

"It's not mine," she says. Her voice is steady.

"You were just looking after it for a friend, right?" The officer says, "I've heard that one before kid," he shakes his head and places a hand on her shoulder, which she shrugs off. "Didn't you kids ever get told not to do drugs? It's simple as, _don't_ _do_ _drugs_! No good comes out of it." He switches on his small flashlight and walks over to me, shining the light in my eyes. I flinch away from the bright light and he sighs again, "cuff these two for me Jones," he says to the other officer. My heart begins to beat rapidly in my chest when the officer walks up to me and takes my wrists, clamping the smooth cold metal around me. I feel suffocated and begin sweating. My mouth feels dry and I feel like I'm choking on air.

"No! Cuff me, not her. The drugs are mine, no one else's. Take me, not them," Lynn pleads.

"I'm sorry girl," the officer says, "but her eyes are about as red as the rash I got on my behind last week. We're taking you both in."

"You can't take her! She hasn't done anything!" Uriah shrieks.

"Give it a rest ninja turtle! Take your girlfriend and head back to your sewer, I'm letting you both off." He gets his notebook out and writes down the registration number on Lynn's van, stopping when he sees that Uriah and Marlene haven't moved an inch. "Leave, go home to your parents before I change my mind." He commands, impatiently.

Uriah and Marlene mouth their sorries to me before slowly backing away into Uriah's SUV, they drive off into the distant darkness. I desperately wish that I was with them. My body is trembling, releasing loud, shaky breaths. Suddenly, I don't feel so invincible anymore. My eyes are wide and tears threaten to spill over as the officers lock Lynn's van up and seat us into the back of the police car, pushing on our heads while reading out our rights. They're arresting us on suspicion of possession of class B drugs. I'm going to jail.

* * *

**Sorry for ending on a bit of a cliffy. Before you think it's a bit unrealistic, she's just been arrested and will be probably held in a cell, she's not going to go to prison. This is what happens in my country if you get caught with drugs or drinking under-age/in a public area. I researched what happens when you get arrested in America, but it's different for every state and not as straight forward as here in the UK. **

**Stay tuned! How is she gonna get out of this one?! ... ;) **

**Thank you so much for the follows, the favourites, the reviews and generally just continuing to read this story. I spend so much of my time writing these chapters (I write ahead) and your support really pays off. :)**


	11. Arrested

**A/N- Rights go to Veronica Roth. **

* * *

August 27th

It's 1am, and we're currently in the police car driving into Chicago. I don't know where they're planning on taking us, whether it's the police station or home. I'm praying that we'll go home, but I seriously doubt that. Surely they can't keep me in a cell if all I did was trespass and smoke a joint, right? My body trembles as we watch the city lights flash by. We sit in silence, and Lynn shifts her body so that she can sort of grasp onto my clammy hand with hers. It's awkward because we're both cuffed. The officers are conversing in the front of the car, and radioing in various codes and numbers. Lynn scoots up closer towards me, so that she's sat right next to me, and leans in towards my ear.

"I've screwed up, but I've not got time for apologies now," she whispers almost inaudibly. "I had unaccounted prescription drugs in my van that I bought from a dealer, including a bunch of sleeping pills and more bags of weed. I'm in serious shit Tris, this isn't just going to be a slap on the wrist for me. I've been caught with weed before, so I'm not gonna escape with a fine." My heart sinks and tears start to fall from my eyes, this is more serious than I thought. I lick my lips and take in a deep, shaking breath. "Hey listen," she continues, "when we get there, you're gonna say that I pressured you to smoke the weed, but you didn't have anything else. You have no knowledge of the other drugs, and this is the first time that you've ever smoked, got it?" I nod my head slowly. "Tell them that I got you the alcohol too. You're gonna use your one phone call for your mom, tell her to come pick you up as soon as she can, you'll probably have to attend some drug awareness class and pay an eighty dollar fine. You won't even have to stay the night, alright?"

"No, I can't call my mom. She'll kick me out of the house and then I'll have no where to go!" I whisper shout, she gives me a wide eyed look telling me to shut up, and one of the officers turns around.

"We got a problem back there?" He says, Lynn and I both shake our heads.

"Please, do it for me Tris, just call her and get yourself out of this shit. You and I both know that you're not going to cope in there."

"What will happen to you?" I fail at holding back tears. I don't know how Lynn has managed to stay so calm, it's like nothing phases her.

"My parents can't afford bail so I'll most likely be staying there for a while," she laughs a humourless laugh and shakes her head, willing away the tears.

"I'm not calling my mom. I'll just stay there for a couple of nights until they let me out. I'd rather that than be homeless."

"Has anyone ever told you how stubborn you are?" Then, the car pulls up at the station. I stare wide-eyed at Lynn, trying to contain the tears. I'm not going to last in there if I'm a blubbering mess. She gives my hand one last reassuring squeeze before the car door opens, and the officers pull us out. They escort us into the building, and I begin to feel claustrophobic. I hate the fact that I can't move my hands, I feel so vulnerable. The building has an official, clinical feel to it. There are distant shouts and the voices of angry men. It also looks like it could do with a good clean. There are a few people sat on the chairs in what looks like the waiting area; they don't look like nice people. I smell cheap coffee and bleach, it burns my nose. The two officers walk us over to the check-in desk and grab a couple of clip boards, then we begin to go our separate ways. I panic. I can't do this without her.

"No!" I don't know what makes me cry out, but I pull on the officer towards the direction that Lynn is going. He keeps me still and acts like I'm being dramatic, as if there's nothing to worry about. I suppose he deals with the most terrible criminals, who get locked away for years. Deep breaths. It will only be one night. Or will it? I don't even know what's going to happen to me.

"You'll be okay Tris! I promise," she's lead into another room, and the door shuts behind her. I feel very scared and very alone.

"Come on, we need to take your details," the officer with the high pitched voice says to me. He takes me into a small room where an older man in uniform sits at a computer. The officer takes the cuffs off me, and leaves the room. Locking it behind him, of course. I rub my sore wrists, glad to be free of them.

"Right, lets see what we've got here then," the older officer says, as he taps various keys on the keyboard. "I'm going to ask you some questions and you need to answer them truthfully." I nod my head, chewing on my lip. I sit on the edge of my seat the whole time that he asks me my name, date of birth, address, guardians, whether I have any illness, whether I'm suicidal, whether I self harm, whether I'm on any medications. I answer them all as honestly as I can with my quaky voice. "Okay, empty your pockets please," I reach into my jacket pocket and pull out my money, cell phone and house keys. He tells me to take off my jacket, and puts all of the items into a plastic bag. He also asks me to remove my belt, necklace and shoelaces. I have to sign a few forms, trying my best to stop my hand from shaking. A few minutes later, a female officer comes into the room. She pats me down and runs a metal detector over my body. I remember this morning, opening my brand-new pyjamas, how excited I was to be sleeping in them. I had no idea.

"Please tell me what's going to happen," I ask the female officer in a timid voice. She must show me pity because she decides to give me an answer after heaving a long sigh.

"I'm going to take you to a cell, you'll be able to make your phone call in the morning." She doesn't elaborate on what will happen after that, I use my own basic knowledge to guess that I will probably stay in this cell overnight and be interviewed in the morning. That's what happens in the movies. But this isn't the movies. Eventually, the officer leads me out of the room. My jeans are a little too loose since I no longer wear my belt, and I'm finding it increasingly difficult to walk in my converse shoes, since they are useless without the laces. I wish I had worn a warmer top, my tiny cropped t-shirt isn't enough to keep the damp chill away. She takes me to a large holding cell, which to my great displeasure already has a couple of people in it. I back away out of instinct, but she pushes me in with force, handing me an overused blanket. The cell has three brick walls, and the front of it is barred, so that they will be able to keep an eye on us. I take this as a good thing, at least no one will be able to beat me up. She slides the doors closed behind me, confining me in my own personal hell. The screech of the metal bars slamming against the post causes my shoulders to hunch up, and I hear a high pitch laugh from behind me.

"It's yo first time, huh?" A skinny female asks me. Her skin looks grubby and she chews on gum. Her eyelids are covered in bright blue eyeshadow, contrast to her neon pink lipstick. Her tennis ball sized boobs are pushed up to her neck, and she wears a tiny fake leather leopard-print mini skirt with a hot pink spaghetti-strap top. I gulp loudly, without saying anything.

"Little lady can't seem to find her voice!" An older overweight woman says, she's sat down on one of the bench seats picking her fingernails. She has grey, greasy hair and is covered in faded tattoos. She smells of cigarettes and alcohol.

"Girl," the skinny woman says, "don't be shy now. We've all been there before. My name's Precious, it's nice to be acquainted with y'all," she holds out her dry, flaky hand and I grab it feebly. Her false nails are so long they almost scratch my skin.

"Tris," I just manage to get out. _Just_ being the operative word.

"Damn girl, you be shakin' like a leaf!" Precious says, she sits down on the bench seat and gestures for me to sit next to her. "What did y'all get yourself into?"

"I thought prisoners didn't ask each other what they did?" I say, Precious and the older woman both shriek with laughter, Precious being a little over enthusiastic. Then they calm down and look at me expectantly. "Smoking pot," I answer.

"Oh, don't worry child, you'll be out of here by tomorrow. They're just gonna give you a slap on the old wrist," Precious demonstrates on her own hand and smirks at me. "You got a ride to get out of here sooner?"

"No actually, I don't have anyone to call. I suppose I'll have to catch a bus, I only have 5 dollars though."

Precious sniggers, "you 'aint gonna have them 5 dollars by tomorrow, I know that them sergeants be stealin'. I swear they stole my sister's toe ring last time I was in here." I don't ask her why she's in here, but if I take a stab in the dark, I'd say it's prostitution. "Oh, I know girl. I'll be outta here in a couple of days, you can just hitchhike a ride with me and Romano."

"Romano?" I question.

"Her pimp," the older woman answers. Yep, suspicion confirmed. I just nod and say thank you, praying to the lord that there will be another way for me to get home. I think I'd rather walk 20 miles barefoot than be aquatinted with Romano.

"You ever done community service?" Precious asks me.

"No, I've never got in trouble for anything," I answer truthfully.

"Honestly, last time they got me picking' up litter, they jacked up my twenty dollar manicure. And I aint get the smell of trash outta my weave for about two weeks after," she looks at me in all seriousness, and I continue to gaze at her completely gobsmacked. I can tell that I've lived a completely sheltered life.

"Well," I continue, "I hope I don't have to do community service."

"Not for pot, or your first offence, you'll just get some long lecture on why drugs are bad for you, and you'll have to cough up a fine since you're over eighteen," the older woman tells me. _Just_ _turned_, I think to myself. "They'll inform whoever comes to collect you of what drugs you took."

"Well no ones coming to collect me. My mom would kick me out of the house," I say.

"Yeah, figured. But which is worse? Staying in here until you get someone to pay your fine, getting stranded in the city, or getting a spank from your mom?" I didn't even think about how I'm going to pay the fine.

"She's away with her boyfriend anyway, and I don't know her phone number off by heart. So I guess I kind of have no choice," I blink back the tears and discreetly practice my deep breathing. I'm continuing to feel more and more confined. I wipe my palms on my jeans, and thank that I'm not stuck in here with a drunk or aggressive person.

"Bummer," the older woman says. She gets back to picking at her fingernails and Precious taps her fingers against the bench. I'm absolutely dying for a piss, but there is no way in hell that I'm using that metal toilet in front of these two. There isn't even any toilet paper. I start counting the bricks, examining all the mould spots. The bench is uncomfortable and I'm shivering. It's colder in here than it is outside. I shuffle back so that I can lean against the wall, and close my eyes. I feel as though I'm having to force them shut, like there going to spring open at any moment. It would probably be easier if I held my eyelids down with my hands, so that is what I do. I start to count sheep, but that has never helped me to get to sleep, not even when I'm in my own comfortable bed. Hours and hours seems to pass, each second is painful. My leg bobs up and down, and my back burns with the pain of being leant up against the wall.

I don't know how much time passes before an officer walks up to the cell, it feels like it's been decades. "Phone time," he says monotonously. Precious leaps up and squeals, while the older woman heaves herself up off the bench. I, however, stay put. I cover myself up with the blanket and close my eyes again, begging for sleep to take me far away from here. The sensation to pee is torturous, but I'd be mortified if I had to go in front of the officers and the other cell mates.

I wake up, my eyes flaring open, covered in cold sweat, to see Precious and the older woman both snoring and slouched on the bench seats. I wonder how long I was asleep for, it was probably only an hour. My mouth feels horrible, staled with alcohol and sleep. Although my stomach feels bloated, I don't feel like I'm going to wet myself anymore. Thankfully the sensation seems to have subsidised. I feel like I've sat here for eternity when the same officer comes up to the cell. Precious jolts awake and looks at the officer expectantly.

"Prior?" The officer asks.

"Y-" my voice cracks, I cough to clear it, "yeah?"

"You're coming with me."

"Where are we going?" The officer ignores me, instead he looks at me impatiently and ushers me out of the cell, holding onto my arm.

"Bye Girl! Hope I'll see you sometime soon!" Precious yells. _I hope I never see you again if it means coming back to this hell hole._ I smile a little at her and let the officer drag me away. I have to keep pulling up my jeans a little, since I need my belt. I walk past the glass panels of the office, and see Lynn in my reflection. We're so close, she's almost become a part of me. And now we're separated. I fret about where she is, and what's happening to her. Is she as stressed as I am? I nearly trip on my loose shoes, before the officer takes me into a small room with a table, and sits me down on the chair.

"Okay then, where were we," he flicks through a folder of papers and pulls out a few leaflets. "Do you understand why you got arrested?"

"Because I was smoking pot," I state.

"Yes, not to mention the under-age drinking, and trespassing. Although we've let that one slide for now since there were no adequate trespassing signs," he shuffles the papers and then looks at me, folding his arms. "Look kid, taking pot is illegal. Against the law. A felony. The money that you use to buy it funds slave trade, sex trafficking, and all kinds of serious crimes and black-market trades. It's bad for your health and causes trouble. So don't do it, okay? Since this is your first offence, we're letting you off with a caution and a fine, which your guardian has just paid." My guardian? Oh no, my mom is going to kill me if she had to pay a fine, I'm not even sure that she can afford it. "Your guardian asked to be present for this interview, but I told him there would be no need if you cooperated and accepted that what you had done is wrong." _Him_? The only guardian I have is my mother, and she is definitely not a _him_. Images of my father flash through my mind, it couldn't be possible, could it? "Here's some leaflets about drugs and such, and you're also required to attend at least one teenage support group about drugs and peer pressure. Now, I'll just need you to sign these caution forms saying you agree to all of this, and then you can be on your way." I look at him dubiously, I don't understand any of these legal terms. "Your responsible adult has already read through the forms, if that makes you feel any better about it." I suppose if whoever has come to pick me up says it's okay, then I'll just have to trust their judgement. It's not like I'm going to get scammed or anything, I'm just accepting what I have done. I sign the forms and he takes the cuffs off me, taking me out of the room and leading me back to the front desk. I stand at the desk waiting for my plastic bag filled with belongings when I feel a large hand on my shoulder. I immediately spin around and see no other than... _Four_. My heart drums incredibly fast and I feel tears of relief fill my eyes. I forget about the fact that I had an inch of hope that it would be my father, and find myself even more surprised at the fact that I'm _glad_ to see him, and no one else. I stare at him in shock for a moment before he pulls me into a hug, squeezing me tightly. All that has happened between us in the past week has been forgotten. This is all that matters. He came for me.

"You're alright now, I'm taking you home," he whispers in my ear. The woman at the desk hands me my belongings, and with Four's help, I shakily slip on my jacket and thread my belt through the loops in my jeans. I have shooting pains in my chest from the anxiety, and I feel like I could collapse at any minute. "Do you need to use the bathroom before we go?"

"Yes, where is it?" He points me in the direction of the rest rooms and half jog there, conscious of the fact that I still have no laces in my shoes, but reminded of my desperation to relieve myself.

I swear I'm in the bathroom for about 10 minutes before I'm finally finished. I get out of the cubicle and look in the mirror, what I see surprises me. The dark circles around my eyes are prominent, and my skin looks grubby with makeup that has been left on for too long. My hair doesn't look too bad, since it's naturally thick and wavy. It looks greasy, but I always somehow seem to manage to pull that off, or so Lynn says. Lynn. My best friend, probably still stuck in a cell. I have so many questions, but now is not the time to answer them. I splash water on my face and dry my hands off, noticing the waft of my own stench when I open the door. I stink of sweat, alcohol, weed, and the mouldy cell that I was sat in for hours on end. I am beyond glad to be out of there. Four smiles as I approach him, and puts a hand on my waist to guide me out of the door, carrying the plastic back with my remaining belongings in his other hand. As soon as we get outside, I realise a shaky breath and allow the morning sun to beat down on my face, thankful to be free of the strobe lights and dank musky air.

"My car's over here," he takes us over to his white car, and I gratefully sink into the plush leather seats, leaning my head back on the head rest. My breathing is rapid and I can still hear my heart beating trough my chest, I suppose the panic still hasn't faded. "You don't look too good," he says while lifting a hand and pressing it against my sweating forehead.

"I'll be fine, I just needed to get out of there."

"Yeah, well, I'm sure you have a lot of questions, but I think we should get some food in you first, if you can manage it? I presume they didn't give you any when you were in there," he pulls out of the parking space and we thankfully drive away from the station. I never want to go back there in my life.

"No, I'm starving." I stay quiet, unable to speak due to the combined anxiety and hunger pangs. We arrive at the drive-through, and I quickly devour my cheeseburger and fries, filling the large hole in my stomach.

"Why did you come and get me?" I break the silence, his hands clench tighter around the wheel. "How did you even know that I was in there?"

"Lynn called Shauna, who called me. She said that there was no one to come and get you, so I offered to go."

"Why would you do that? I thought you hated me."

"I don't hate you Tris," he looks at me sternly. "And do you really think that I would let you stay there alone? Let you wander round Chicago?"

"I'm sorry, about the other day."

"Don't apologise to me," he looks angry for a moment but then his face softens. "I should be the one apologising. I should have thanked you for helping me, and you were right. I didn't enjoy the fact that I was vulnerable. I'm not used to people seeing me like that."

"Did you pay the fine?" I ask him.

"Yeah," he smiles a little. "Think of it as both an apology and a thank you."

"No, I'll pay you back, I promise. I got some money for my birthday-"

"I don't want your money Tris. Honestly it's no problem, I'm not going to miss it."

"But you shouldn't pay my fine, Four. I was the one who got in trouble. I should deal with the consequences."

"I think spending a night in a cell and going to that support group will be consequence enough. It's what friend's do, help each other out." _Friends_. Lynn is my friend, and I left the station when she's still in there.

"I can't believe Lynn," I shake my head in disbelief and let a lone tear fall down my face. She had so many drugs in her van, God knows what's going to happen to her. I don't know what I'll do without her. Four places a hand on my leg towards my knee while still looking ahead at the road. I know it's just a friendly reassuring gesture, but it makes my stomach flutter.

"With a good lawyer, she'll be out of there soon enough. Hopefully she'll only have to serve a couple months before being let out on probation and community service."

"Yeah, I hope so. I just can't believe she had all of those prescription drugs in her van. You must think I'm a stupid kid, a failure."

"Don't be so hard on yourself, you're not a failure. Yeah, you did something stupid and ended up in an overnight cell for it but trust me, most of us have been there before. I've done things that I'm not proud of, dabbled with drugs in my college years, but you've got to quit it now, before it screws your life up."

"I know. I promise I will," but is he going to stop drinking at three in the afternoon? We pull up at his house, and he drives up the driveway. "I'm just worried about her."

"I know you are, but she made her own choices, and now she's going to have to deal with it. Be glad that you're out now, and things will get sorted soon."

"Yeah," I murmur, unconvinced. "I should probably get back now."

"Come inside? I don't really think you should be alone," he unbuckles his seat belt and scratches the back of his neck. I don't really want to go back into his house after how he made me feel, but I can't deny the fact that he has most definitely redeemed himself. I nod and get out of the car, following him into his house. The clock in the hallway says it's just past midday. I was in there for less than twelve hours, but it seemed like an entire week. I follow him silently as we walk up to his bedroom. I stand there awkwardly as he roots around in his drawers, pulling out a black t-shirt and pair of boxers. He then goes into another cupboard and pulls out a white towel. "You can have a shower in my bathroom," he points to the door leading to his en suite, "and put these on," he hands me the clothes and towel and shows me how to turn the shower on.

"Thank you," I tell him earnestly.

"It's okay, you can use whatever shower gels are there," he points to the rack in the shower and leaves the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. I sigh, and begin to peel off my sweaty and dirty clothing, throwing it on the floor. I gratefully step into the steamy shower, cleansing myself of this entire experience. I squirt his shower gel onto myself, pleased to be smelling just like him. I watch the dirt and grime slide down the drain as I lather up the shampoo in my hair and rinse it out. For a moment I forget how to turn the fancy shower off, put I manage to figure it out. I step out of the shower and dry myself off with the fluffy towel, wrapping my hair up in it. When I pull on the Calvin Kleins, only then do I realise how weird it is to be wearing his boxers. But, I suppose they're more like shorts on me. Thankfully they don't fall down, as my curvier girly body fills out the waistband. I pull on the black soft T-shirt, which reaches up to mid-thigh length. I smell like Four. I take the towel out of my hair and continue to rub it on my head and shake it until my hair is no longer dripping. Thankfully my hair dries quickly because it's short. I leave the bathroom and find Four sitting at his desk typing furiously at his laptop.

"Feel better after that?" He asks me, while keeping his concentration on whatever it is he's doing.

"Yeah, much. Do you have a plastic bag for my clothes? They reek," I laugh at how stupid this predicament is. He turns around in his chair before answering me, but gets caught staring at me. His gaze doesn't go unnoticed when he skims over my body, fixing on my bare legs. My cheeks heat up, I've never been looked at in this way before. He doesn't look greedy or perverted. I don't mind it.

"Yeah, I'll go get one," he answers...still looking at my legs. My mind is telling me to preform an awkward cough or project a sarcastic comment like 'take a picture it will last longer' but I can't seem to do it. I let him stare at me because I'm okay with it. Eventually he lifts him self up off the chair almost urgently, and leaves the room in a couple of strides. I sit down on the end of his bed and wait for him to come back in. When he does, he places my worn clothes in the carrier bag.

"You should lie down, try to get some sleep," he walks over to his bed and pulls back the covers for me to get under. I slide in, getting myself comfy in this huge bed. If I had a bed like this I don't think I'd ever leave it. I pull the sheet over myself and lie on my side, watching him as he shuts the blinds in an attempt to keep the day light out. "I'll just be downstairs. Marcus and Sarah are away on business in the city, so it's just you and me." I smile and thank him, and he exits the room, leaving the door slightly ajar. I plan on getting to sleep, but that just isn't the case. I shrink down into the bed sheets that smell so strongly of him, especially his pillow. He has a distinctive smell, it isn't artificial. It's his own sweet scent, and it makes me feel safe. My body is still pumping pure adrenaline, and I feel like a live fire. I still think I'm in shock, not yet processing what just happened to me or the fact that Lynn is going down for possession of drugs. I toss and turn in the huge bed for what feels like an hour, it must have been because my hair is no longer wet. The sheets get tangled up in my legs, and I keep frustratingly fluffing up the pillow and slamming my head back down again.

"Tris?" I hear Four say quietly from behind the door. I freeze.

"Yeah?"

"Can I come in?" I don't know why he's asking, it is his room after all. I suppose he's just being polite. Was I tossing and turning that loud?

"Yeah sure," he walks in carrying a mug of some sort of hot drink. He looks at me for a moment, furrowing his brows, before setting the mug down on the bedside table and pulling his desk chair up next to the bed and sitting down in it. "It's some kind of herbal tea, it will probably help you relax." I sit up in bed, lifting up the the mug and blowing on the hot liquid.

"Thanks. How did you know I was awake?"

"Well, if I were you then I probably wouldn't get to sleep either. Plus I heard you rolling around," he laughs slightly.

"Have you ever been me?" I ask seriously.

"What do you mean?" He looks confused and I don't blame him, that question came out completely wrong.

"I mean, have you ever been in my position?"

"Arrested, you mean?" He raises an eyebrow and heaves a long sigh.

"Well...yeah, have you?" He looks at me for a minute, contemplating whether to answer the question or not. Please just open up to me. Please.

"How did you know?" He says, smirking a little. I laugh, a sign of relief, before responding to him.

"You've just been so attentive, knowing how I must be feeling. And so far, you haven't treated it like it's a big deal."

He gets more comfortable in his chair and crosses his legs, looking down at the floor, "when I was in high school, I hadn't yet learned how to control my...temper," he shrugs and smiles a little, carrying on telling me his admission. "In my last year, when I was eighteen, I got a lot stronger, I looked older and taller than the other guys, if any of them pissed me off I'd snap. Anyway, everyone soon became pretty intimidated by me, so they mostly just left me alone. I had so much anger built up in me, and I didn't know how to deal with it. I started looking for trouble, looking for a physical fight so that I could take it out on that person and actually somehow defend myself for once," what does he mean? Defend himself for once? I sense that there is more to this story than he's letting on, but I don't press the issue, I let him carry on. "One day I was out in Chicago with some friends at the night time, my friend Lauren brought this guy with her, and at the end of the night he was getting a little too 'handsy' with her. They left earlier than us, but when I was walking to get a cab, I heard her crying for help in an alley. I saw him hitting her and trying to...you know. Anyway, I lost it. Beat him to a pulp. A police car happened to be cruising In the area, drove past and saw the incident. I earned myself a couple nights in the cell until my dad bailed me out. I won the court case because my dad works in government." I'm lost for words, I never knew Four would have been someone who had deeper issues, he always seems so mature and well put together. I just stare at him in shock and he gives me a tight smile. "Thinking I was going to jail changed me. Even though that fucker deserved it, I realised that at some point, we all have to grow up and deal with our shit like adults. We can't always just do what we want. So, I started going to the gym, joined a couple group sessions in boxing, and learned how to let my anger out in a less harmful way. I still go there every morning." I nod my head a little.

"I guess I've always looked up to Lynn," I finally decide to speak, "I mean, I went through a very confused time. I was lugged around from state to state, had no friends, and life at home wasn't that fun. Sure, she's got her own shit and takes it too far with the whole drugs thing, but she's always been my rock. I just never anticipated her being my downfall too."

"She may or may not be a bad influence on you," he smirks and laughs a little.

"Yeah," I smile and think to myself for a minute, "I'm kind of embarrassed. I bet you think I'm pretty immature and an idiot."

"No Tris, you're none of those things. You're a great person, just misguided. Like I was," I nod my head and fiddle with the blanket, while he looks at his watch. "How about I take you home now? You might feel better in your own bed," _no I quite like it here actually._ I think to myself. But I guess I need to be home before my mom gets back.

"Yeah, thanks. For everything."

"No problem," he grabs a piece of paper and a pen from his desk and starts to scribble something down. "Here's my number, incase you're ever stuck and need help," he hands me the piece of paper, but before I can grab it he pulls it back and carries on talking, "promise me, you won't hesitate to call, if you ever get in a bad situation? Or even just want to talk?" He smiles.

"I promise," I take the piece of paper from him.

"Text me tonight so that I have your number," he gets up from the chair and hands me my bag of clothes. I just slip my jeans and sneakers on, Four said I could keep the shirt since it's too small for him now anyway. He drives me home, but before I leave the car, I feel a magnetic pull towards him, like I don't want to leave. Can't leave. Without thinking, I turn back around to face him and wrap my arms around him. He seems to be in shock at first, but then wraps his strong arms around my waist.

"Bye Tris," he whispers in my ear.

"Bye Four." I hesitantly remove myself from his grip, and head into my house without looking back, although I don't hear his car leave until my front door is shut again. That was one hell of a birthday.

* * *

**That was the longest chapter I've ever written! Don't worry, there's ****plenty more to come. **

**QUESTION: Can you update Fanfiction on your iPhone? I write all my chapters on the 'notes' app on my MacBook, so it automatically goes onto the notes app on my phone. Is there like a fan fiction app or something? Or do people just use their iPads for that? Just wanted to know because I'm moving house next week and I want to be able to upload incase we don't have wifi straight away. PM me if you can help! Thanks :) **

**Also thanks for all the reviews I got for the last chapter, I'm really excited about this story and it's only continuing due to your support! Please continue :)**

**See you all next time! (which will probably be the end of the week)**


	12. Lies

**A/N- I do not own Divergent or the characters. Rights go to Veronica Roth.**

* * *

August 29th

"Beatrice Prior, come down here immediately!" My mother's shout rings through the house. I close my eyes, lick my lips, and count to ten. I've been in bed all morning, I've had the week off work since I told Becky I was sick. Little did she know I was actually traumatised after being arrested and having my best-friend remain in police custody. Once I've heaved a deep breath, I get off my bed and hesitantly walk down the stairs. My mother is waiting for me at the bottom. She doesn't look happy.

"Hi," I say in a small voice.

"Hi? _Hi? _Is that all you have to say to me?"

"Um, yeah." She shakes her head and motions for me to follow her into the living room.

"Sit." She points her finger to the sofa, instructing me to sit on it, whilst she remains pacing the living room floor. "I just got off the phone with Lynn's mother. She's in _tears_ Beatrice."

"Oh, what's wrong with her?" My voice is timid, I know exactly what's wrong with her. My mother stops and gives me a look that could set me on fire. She always knows when I'm lying, which is why I have to avoid her asking for the truth.

"You've been lying to me. She was arrested. You know exactly what's happened."

"I wouldn't call it _lying_ per se. I just- didn't tell you."

"I can't believe you. What's gotten in to you? Why wouldn't you tell me something like that? It's not an invonvience or a bit of a downer that she's been arrested. It's a _huge_ deal. She's been _arrested!_ She could be going to prison!" My mom looks crazed. She stares at me, her mouth still open and her eyes still wide, waiting for me to give the response that she expects.

"Well it's not like you've been around to notice anything was wrong. Even if I did want to tell you, you weren't even at home for me to do so." I sound cold and emotionless. Maybe I am.

"Don't start that now. You know I've been working double shifts since I took a couple of days off."

"I know. So don't get mad at me when I haven't told you anything." She looks at me for a moment, exasperated.

"We're going round to their house right now. Put some shoes on."

"What? Why?"

"Because: they would like to know what happened on the night of your birthday. And I think we all need a talk." Oh no. I can't tell my mom I was arrested. She won't let me live here, she'll go insane. I gulp, my hands trembling a little. I need time to get my story together, to gather my thoughts at least. To prepare myself for the guaranteed slaughtering if she finds out. I suddenly feel very nauseous.

"I need to get changed." Hopefully having a shower and getting ready will buy me some time to think.

"No, they're expecting us now. There's a pair of your jeans on the kitchen counter that just came out of the drier this morning. Put those on and then we're leaving," she instructs.

"But mom," I whine. I look a dishevelled mess.

"No arguments!" She snaps. I huff dramatically and drag my feet along the carpet into the kitchen. I pull off my pyjama pants and grab the pair of jeans that are folded on the counter. I'm wearing the black t-shirt of Four's that he gave me to wear the other day; it still faintly smells of him. I walk back into the living room, looking ridiculous in the huge shirt and jeans, and slip on my shoes.

"Happy now?" I say.

"This isn't a time to be happy," she replies. I grit my teeth and follow her out of the front door, sitting in the passenger seat of the car. I don't want to see the look on Lynn's parents' faces. But I have to. Not only do I have to feel guilty about the fact that I was also arrested and didn't tell anybody, but I also knew about Lynn's drug habit for quite a while. The terrible thought dawns on me that Lynn's parents could already know about my arrest, leading them to inform my soon-to-be dragon of a mother. When she's angry, she can breathe fire.

When we arrive, Shauna opens the door for us, sporting her signature sulk. My mother is polite to her, but I expected no less. I, however, decide to ignore her and walk straight past her into the living room which is where everyone is sitting. The atmosphere is sullen, her mom has been crying, I can tell by her puffy eyes. My mom greets them both, and they tell us to sit. I notice that Hector isn't here, and assume he's been sent off to football practice while we all engage in 'grown-up talk'. You'd think someone had just died.

"How are you Tris?" Lynn's mom asks me. I've never really understood her true character. When Lynn is in 'real' trouble, she seems to care. Every other time, she puts her blinders on and continues to clean the house and cook their dinner. I understand how Lynn can be lonely even when she's at home with a house full of people.

"I've been better." I can't really say I'm doing fine, while their daughter's locked away somewhere.

"Well, we've just been discussing the situation that we have with Lynn," Lynn's dad says, his voice sounds military-like. "We could do with your help." He is an authoritative man, seemingly suffering from lack of emotions. For him, everything is practical and straightforward. There is a certain way things should be done, and a reason for everything. Overly traditional, and sometimes overly cruel. I dislike him.

"How can I help?" I ask.

"By telling us everything that happened that night." _I can't do that._ That would mean telling my mom that I got arrested. She doesn't need to know, no one needs to know. Except for Lynn, Four, Shauna, Marlene and Uriah. That's actually a lot of people. Well, _here's hoping they can keep a secret._ I sigh and twiddle with my thumbs a little.

"Lynn rang me up telling me that she was taking me somewhere for my birthday. With our friends Uriah and Marlene. She took us to what she thought was an abandoned field so that we could star-gaze." I look around the room, all eyes are on me. Waiting for me to continue. "So that's what we did."

"And then the police came?" Lynn's dad asks me. He talks to me slowly and expectantly. Not necessarily in a patronising manner, he just thinks he's so much better and full of more sense than everyone else. I can tell he's going to try and drain out every last bit of information from me.

"Yes. Because the field belonged to someone and we were trespassing it. We were also playing music." That's it, I'll just keep my answers sharp and straight to the point. It's the truth, after all. I'm just leaving out a few minor details...

"And drinking and smoking?" He raises an accusatory eyebrow at me. My mom looks at me with a hard look on her face, sinking back into her chair a little. I know I'm going to have to admit to at least one of these things, if I want to avoid most of the truth.

"Yeah," I continue. "We had a few drinks, that's all."

"So they just took her in for underage drinking? Even though the rest of you were doing it too? Then how did they find what was in her van?" Lynn's mom asks, sounding confused, and slightly irritated. I would be confused too, if I had to listen to this lie. Shauna stares at the ground.

"She was, um." I feel like I'm really ratting out on a friend. But I have to say at least half of the truth, even if I'm being selfish and saving my own skin. "She was smoking weed, and they caught her with it. She also had a bag in her pocket."

"Marijuana?" My mom says angrily, while looking at me. "I take it she was the only one smoking it?" I look around the room. I want to say yes. The only person in this room who knows otherwise is Shauna. I want to look at her, to see if she'll let me lie. But all she does is look at the floor.

"Yes, she was. They sent the rest of us home." This is bad. Really bad. Surely I can't get away with a lie like this.

"By police escort?"

"No, Marlene drove Uriah's car because she had only had a sip of alcohol."

"Well," Lynn's dad continues after a long uncomfortable pause. "We've learned that they had Lynn's plates recorded. The dealer that she went to in Chicago has been wanted for a while now. He supplies a lot of prescription and low class drugs to kids. They flagged down nearly everyone who went to him, one being Lynn, which is why they took an interest in her and her van straight away." I know what this means. It means they're going to try and get information out of her in order to catch the dealer. "What time was this?" He asks me.

"I don't know, about midnight." I shrug a little.

"Then how come we only found out the next day?" He asks Shauna accusingly.

"Lynn rang me from the station in the early hours, I didn't want to wake you. Honestly, I thought she would be let out the next morning, I didn't think it would be that serious." Shauna replies.

"_That serious?_ My baby girl was locked in a cell and you didn't think that was serious!" Her mom starts to cry and I feel uncomfortable. My own mom didn't know that I too was also locked in a cell.

"Beatrice," my mother says. "Why don't you and Shauna go and make us all a hot drink." She gives me a pointed look. Shauna storms past me, into the kitchen and I follow her. I stand there awkwardly while I watch her make the drinks, since she knows where everything is. I'm glad to be free from the spotlight and constriction of that room.

"I did it for you, you know." Shauna says, while angrily swishing the tea bag around in the boiling water. "I didn't call them until the afternoon so that Four had a chance to get you out of there. So that your mom wouldn't find out." I don't know what to say.

"Thank you."

"No," she points a finger at me. "Don't you dare thank me. Don't thank me for helping you and your lies. For letting Lynn sit in there all day before calling mom and dad."

"I'm sorry. You're right. I don't know, I, I." I sigh, stumbling on my sentences. I feel too immature for this situation.

"I told Four he should have just left you in there. That he should have rang your mom and told her to come and get you instead. But he couldn't do that." She shakes her head. "He couldn't leave you in there even for a few more hours. Even though they said they weren't letting you out until midday, he went there at eight in the morning and sat under their noses. Waiting for you. Telling them to not do anything or ask you anything without his permission. I was there. I had to leave because of how ridiculous he was being. I was trying to get a lawyer for my sister, trying to somehow scrape my money together so I could get her out but all he was bothered about was _you_."

"He was worried about me. Don't blame him for that."

"But why would he be worried about you? Why would Lynn tell me to call him in the first place? Last thing I knew, you were both arguing over something at Faction Ave."

"That was nothing," I frown angrily at her, and she stares me down. After heaving a frustrated sigh, she begins to pour the milk into the tea. The angry blush fading from her pale cheeks.

"All I'm saying is that, I don't know what the hell is going on between you both, but don't drag him into your shit. I've saved your ass, which also put mine on the line. Now that's the last thing that I'm doing for you." She picks up two mugs in her hand. "Grab the others," she says to me, gesturing to the other mugs. I speechlessly comply, carrying them into the living room behind her. I put them down on the glass table, the hot liquid spilling out a little with my shaking hands. My cheeks are wet.

"Beatrice," my mother sighs, holding out her arms. I don't want her to console me. She thinks I'm crying because my friend is bad, because she got herself into trouble. But that's not it. I'm crying about what a terrible person I am. I'm crying in front of these people and the last thing I want is for her to rock me like a child.

"I'm sorry, I need to get some air." I quickly rush out of the room and dash out of the front door without a second thought. I make hideous choking noises while trying to calm myself down. I don't know why I'm crying all of a sudden, I suppose this whole situation has finally gotten to me. I walk down the street a little, breathing the fresh air in and out. I can't go back in there, I need to find a way of getting home. I have no money for the bus or taxi. I also don't think I can face my mom again after everything, she doesn't understand. I pull out my phone from my pocket, going through the contacts. I see Four's number. I know he told me to call him whenever I need help. Right now I need help. I promised him that I would call him if this was the case. But I just can't. I don't want him to see me like this, and don't want him telling me how I've done nothing wrong. Because I know that I have been wrong. Instead, I call Uriah. He doesnt sound too surprised when he hears my upset voice, telling him and Marlene to come and pick me up outside Lynn's house. I stand there for a few minutes trying to compose myself, when his silver SUV stops on the curb and the side door opens for me to get in. I slide in the back next to Marlene, who has tissues for me. She gives me a sad look, but I don't want pity. I want help. In silence, we drive to a diner where we can discuss everything without interruption. When we get there, Marlene and Uriah sit next to each other, I sit opposite them. We all order a milkshake each; Uriah's treat. Mine is chocolate. Lynn's favourite.

"What's going to happen to her?" Marlene asks.

"Apparently they want her to snitch on her dealer. But I don't think she will. They'll probably try to make a plea bargain with her, but I know she'll refuse it. I'm hoping she _will_ help them, then maybe they'll just issue her a hefty fine and let her be on her way." I reply.

"So, I take it there's more to this story than under-age drinking and pot?" She raises her eyebrows at me.

"No," I take a deep breath. "She had a bunch of other drugs in her car."

"This is bad," Uriah whistles out and leans back against the booth.

"I didn't know she had other drugs in her van," Marlene shakes her head. "I knew she smoked pot and often saw her swallow a couple of pills. But I chose to ignore it. I just thought she was sick or something, thought they were from her doctor."

"So did I. I knew she was struggling, and just thought that I'd leave her to it if it makes her cope better. Now I just feel guilty, because I should have intervened."

"I know. But this is none of our faults. She should have known the consequences," Uriah says. He rubs Marlene's back.

"They don't know that I got arrested as well," I say.

"Who doesn't?" Uriah asks.

"My mom and Lynn's parents."

"Seriously? Then how the hell did you get home?" Marlene asks, sounding worried. But it's a bit too late for that.

"Four came and got me. He told the police that I live with him whenever my mom is away. They obviously didn't look into it, probably just presumed I was a rebellious teenager who doesn't get much parental attention. He told them that he was going to keep an eye on me and make sure I go to that support group, so they just let me go."

"Well if that's the case, I doubt your mom will find out," he says.

"But what if they mention it in court when they're questioning Lynn? Then her parents will know, and they'll tell my mom. Then I'll be as good as dead for lying to her."

"Then you better hope that they don't mention you in court. You've already lied now, there's no going back. Not unless you apologise and tell the truth."

"I can't do that," I put my head in my hands. "My life was just starting to get better. I can't screw it up now."

"Haven't you already, though?" Marlene says a little glumly. "I mean, you've been arrested. It's happened. You screwed up. Not telling your mom is just running further away from it."

"I'm a horrible person," I bang my head against the table. This is a mess.

"You're not," Uriah lifts my head up and looks me dead in the eyes. "We all make mistakes. Would your mom even be that mad at you? I mean you just smoked it a couple of times and they told you off. It's not even gone on your record, has it?"

"I don't think so," I reply. "But seriously, you don't know my mom. She would go crazy. When I get home, she's probably going to kill me about the drinking." There's silence for a minute, but I see a smirk growing on Marlene's face.

"What was Four like?" She asks, raising an eyebrow. I know that they probably think it was really weird that he came to get me. But for some reason, I don't. Maybe I _should_ think it's weird.

"Fine. He just drove me home." I lie. Lie again. That's all I seem to be doing lately. I'm a liar.

"Nice of him," she says, while sucking on her straw. She doesn't believe me.

"Yes, it was nice. Much nicer than you guys leaving me stranded!" I'm not really that mad at them, I feel like there's no point. I have bigger things to worry about.

"Yeah…sorry about that," Uriah gives me a sheepish smile and shrugs his shoulders a little. I don't think anyone could stay mad at him for long. My phone vibrates a couple of times so I pull it out of my pocket. I wish I hadn't.

"What is it?" Marlene asks, her and Uriah stare at me worriedly.

"It's a text from my mom. Lynn's being tried in court on Monday."

* * *

**Thanks for all the encouraging reviews! They definitely keep me motivated :) **

**Please continue your support... I appreciate it so much. **

**Also, In terms of all the legal stuff/prison and justice system in this story: It's all fictional. Court processes/Prison processes are not straightforward and are different for each individual depending on what their case is. Therefore, I'm following basic common knowledge on what happens when you've been arrested, but in terms of time space between the court hearings/going to prison.. and the eventual sentence/punishment that Lynn will ****receive, it will all be _fictional._ I'm just going to make it up to suit my plot. Hope this makes sense. Just thought I would clear it up so that you didn't think it was odd that Lynn is going to court less than a week after being arrested, sometimes people have to wait weeks or month depending on their bail and a bunch of other complicated legal stuff that I just can't wrap my head around! :)**

**DatFangirl: thank you thank you thank you! I hope this chapter answered your question about whether Shauna would bail Lynn out or not. Deep down, like any bickering siblings, she does care for her sister :) I am also glad I could shed light on the whole drugs thing for you. **

**Hope everyone has a good week...I'll see you next time!**


	13. Gino's

**A/N- Rights go to Veronica Roth.**

**So I finally have wifi again! Sorry for not updating last week, but it gave me a chance to really crack on with this story. I have it all planned out. I've also been working on telling Four's 'Jaded' story, from when he was a teenager. I might wait until this story is finished before I post it though, but review or PM me if you want to see a sneak peak chapter. :)**

* * *

September 1st

Today is the day of Lynn's court hearing. This morning, I pulled the most sophisticated outfit I could find out of my closet, and laid it out on my bed. I even put effort into my hair and makeup which is highly unusual of me. Unfortunately, then my mom walked in and asked me what I was doing. I told her that I was getting ready to go to court, to which she replied with "absolutely not." I whinged and whined, arguing with her about the fact that Lynn needs me there to support her; it's what any good friend would do. "Beatrice, I think it would be best for you if you went to work as normal. I don't think you would be able to handle watching your best friend get sent to prison," she said. I told her that Lynn might not even go to prison, but she still wouldn't agree with me and eventually she won the argument. I decided in the end that maybe it would be best if I didn't go. Because, then my mom would probably come with me, and then risk finding out about the fact that I too was also arrested. So here I am, stood in the bakery, mindlessly disinfecting the counters and wiping down the tables. I am on edge, and my stomach has flipped so many times I can't bring myself to eat anything.

"Are you still feeling unwell?" Kyle asks from behind me.

"Huh?" I reply, dumbfounded.

"You were off work last week because you were ill…" he trails off, looking confused. I forgot about the fact I told them that I had the flu. What a dumb excuse, I'm sure it takes longer than a couple of days to recover from the flu.

"Oh, yeah, um I'm feeling much better now." I walk past him to get to the other tables that need cleaning.

"I heard about your friend Lynn," he says. I almost drop the cleaning spray, my back stiffening up.

"How did you know about that?" I turn to look at him.

"Who doesn't know about it? Word travels fast." He walks behind the counter and starts cashing up. I bite my cheek and study his reaction for a while, but he remains expressionless and avoids looking at me. I don't know what he's thinking.

"She's a good person."

"I never said that she wasn't." He smiles and looks at me, "What happened? Is she going to prison?"

"You know I'm not going to answer any of that, right?" I raise an eyebrow.

"I heard that she was dealing to school kids and that she's going away for ten years." He picks up the brush and starts sweeping the floor around my feet. I grab hold of the brush handle to stop him and get his attention, he looks up at me, almost amused.

"Are you crazy? You actually believe that?" I snap.

"That's the only side of the story I've heard." He's trying to wind me up. It's working.

"Well it's not true! She got caught smoking pot, that's it. Not that it's any of your business. I just don't want you to misinform anyone else."

"Don't worry, I won't." I let go of the brush handle and he continues to sweep the floor. "I just wanted to know why you had such a sulk on."

"To be honest, that's none of your business either. I'm fine. Now can we please hurry up with the cleaning so that I can get out of here?"

"Sure," he walks over to the machines, turning them off and putting the cups away. "But, Tris?" I look up at him, waiting for him to continue. "I know that there's more to the story than what you're telling me." He stares me down and my face heats up out of anger and the pressure of the situation. I can't let him know that I'm hiding something, even if he already suspects it. We continue to organise and clean the bakery in total silence. Although, I feel his stare burning through me the whole time. It takes us especially long to clean up today, since we haven't done a deep clean in over a week. When we're finished, we both go outside and lock up, walking our separate ways. I don't even say goodbye to Kyle. He annoyed me by poking his nose around in my business. The air is clammy and I'm walking unusually fast to get home. Four told me that he would ring me when there's news about Lynn because Shauna was going to the court hearing, and she told Four that she would tell him everything that happened. I have no idea what Lynn is doing right now. She could be locked up for all I know, or she could be sat at home. No, if she was sat at home then she would have called me. So that means that she's gone to prison? I sigh, frustrated, I can't do this to myself. I have to wait until I hear from Four before I start thinking about all of that. My feet carry me home in record speed, and as soon as I get in I dump my bag and head up to my room. I grab a towel and strip out of my dirty work clothes, and go to the bathroom to jump in the shower. I let the shower water wash away the tears that fall down my face. The tears that I shed for my friend Lynn. Once I'm out, I dry off and change into clean clothes. My mom left me a plate of food for me in the kitchen to heat up in the microwave. It doesn't look too appealing right now, so I cover it back up and put it in the fridge for later. Whilst I'm sat in front of the TV, watching a brainless reality show, my phone starts to vibrate. Four.

"Hello?" I say.

"Hey, I'm outside your house. Are you home?" His tone of voice doesn't give anything away. I want to know if he has good knows or bad news.

"Yeah, I'll go open the door." I hang up and open the front door to find Four standing there, leaning casually against the porch frame. He stands up straight and smiles at me. I return the smile stiffly, holding the front door open for him to walk in. He's never been inside my house before, and although it's not posh and fancy like his is, I couldn't care less right now.

"Do you want anything? A drink?" I ask.

"No, I'm fine thank you. But I think we should sit down." He shoves his hands in his pockets and scrunches his lips together. This can't be good. I lead him into the living room, where we sit next to each other on the sofa.

"Is she alright? What's happened to her? What did Shauna say?" My voice rushes out of my mouth, sounding crazed.

"Tris," he puts a hand on my back, rubbing it a little before letting it drop. "Calm down you'll give yourself a heart-attack. I just got off the phone with Shauna. Lynn's been sentenced." He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. My voice gets caught in my throat.

"Just tell me," I say. "Just tell me everything." He looks me in the eye, nodding his head a little. He takes a deep breath and begins telling me about the trial.

"Well, the reason the court case was so quick was because they really wanted to get things moving along so that they could prosecute the dealer. Lynn gave some information about the guy, not all, but some. She also pleaded guilty to possession of class b and class c drugs. Her lawyer applied for house arrest, because of her age, circumstances and mental health. She's going to have to serve three months in prison, with one year in house arrest." I suck in a sharp breath and scrub my palms over my face. "She also has to pay a three-thousand dollar fine. But, she got really lucky, it could have been a whole lot worse."

"So that's it? She's just gone straight to prison for three months? She was only arrested less than a week ago!"

"I know, but since her parents couldn't afford bail, she wasn't allowed to be let out. And they can't keep her in police custody for any longer, she had to be transported to an actual prison as soon as possible."

"What if she doesn't cope? Prison is awful, that's not fair! Why couldn't she serve the whole of her sentence at home?"

"That's just the way it is. It's a low-security prison so she's not going to be shacking up with a bunch of murderers. The reason she got granted the house arrest in the first place was because of her age and her involvement with helping to track down the dealer. If it weren't for that, she'd be in there for a whole lot longer." I lean back on the sofa and stare up at the ceiling.

"I just can't believe it."

"No one can. Shauna said her parents are devastated."

"Well, maybe if they had done a better job at parenting she wouldn't be in this situation in the first place," I say, angrily. But as soon as I've said it I want to take it back. I don't want Four to see the bitter side of my personality.

"Tris, it's pointless being angry. And blaming someone will only make it worse. What's done is done. Lynn made her own decisions, and now she has to deal with that."

"Was Shauna just as devastated?" I raise a pointed eyebrow. I don't know much about her, but from what I've seen so far, she's not the nicest or caring person.

"Of course," Four frowns. "How could you even ask that?"

"Because, last I saw, she was shouting and screaming at Lynn."

"That doesn't mean she doesn't love her," Four laughs. "Tris, it's what sisters do. There's no such thing as a perfect sibling relationship. Just because they scream and shout doesn't mean they wouldn't jump in front of a bullet for each other."

"Yeah," I whisper. I had never really thought about it too much before. I guess I would understand if Caleb and I had grown up together.

"You weren't mentioned, by the way. So her parents still have no idea that you were arrested."

"That's lucky for me isn't it," I roll my eyes. For some reason, I feel like I wish my mother _knew_ about the arrest. I feel like I need to be punished. Four leans back and puts his arm on the back of the sofa, so that it's behind my head. I don't know why but I desperately want to just curl up to his side and rest my head on his chest, and be able to revel in his body warmth comfortably. However, we're not that close so it would be incredibly stupid of me and would probably freak him out. Snap out of it, Tris.

"You know," his voice sounds huskier than usual, and his eyes examine my facial features when he speaks to me. "Lynn is really going to need a friend right now. Whether it just be by answering her phone calls or going to visit her once a week in prison. She needs her best friend to help her through what will most likely be the most difficult time in her life." He starts to twirl my hair around his finger. "And you need to be strong. She's not going to be the same person who you've grown up with. That place is going to break her, and it won't be pretty. She won't be able to have any drugs, and if she was dependent on them then she'll struggle to no end. But she'll get through it, especially if she has you." I could listen to the deep rumble of his voice all day, it relaxes me.

"You're right." So we sit there for a while, basking in the peaceful silence after a hectic day. Then, Four pulls his arm away from where it was resting behind my head and pulls his shirt sleeve up to look at his watch.

"Have you eaten yet?" He asks.

"No, didn't really fancy anything."

"Want to go out?"

"Depends where we're going," I smirk.

"That's my thing," he pokes the corner of my lip. "I want to go to my favourite restaurant."

"What kind of food is it?"

"That's a surprise," he winks and stands up from the sofa, picking his keys and phone up from the coffee table.

"Is it fancy? Do I need to get changed?" I'm wearing patterned trousers with a white blouse, the outfit I had planned for going to court to see Lynn.

"No, you look good," he smiles.

We're driving in the car for about twenty minutes before he starts looking for a parking space. He parks down a dead-end road and we climb out. "Are you sure you want to park your nice car down here?" I ask him, raising an eyebrow.

"It's fine, there's no where else to park in the city." I walk around the car so that I'm next to him, and follow his lead to this 'mystery' restaurant. If it's anything to do with seafood, I'll stick to the side salad. I'll eat anything except for seafood, I hate the taste, smell and texture of it. The streets are really busy with people rushing around after work or on their way out. A few brush past me and nudge me to the side, I'm not cut out for city life. Four is good at dodging all the people and I can't keep up with him. He looks like he's about to cross the road, but before his does, he turns around and wraps his hand around mine. He doesn't link his fingers with mine like lovers do, he's holding my hand like a brother holds his sister's. He pulls me across the busy road and when we reach the pavement, I pull my hand from his grip. I see a flash of hurt in his eyes before he covers it up with his easy smile. I don't want him to treat me like a child, or for him to feel as though he needs to look after me and protect me. We approach a restaurant named "Gino's" and Four opens the door for me.

"Here we are," he says. I walk past him into the restaurant and instantly realise why he likes it so much. The smell of warm, delicious flavoursome food hits me like a brick wall, and the atmosphere is enchanting. The place is decorated in deep, rich reds and warm cream colours. The tables are made of dark wood surrounded by plush seats and cushioned chairs. Soft music plays quietly in the background, and the noise of people talking quietly and laughing amongst themselves fills the room. It's not too noisy, and not too quiet. There are no screaming children running around and causing disruption, but they are sat at their seats calmly eating with their families. There are a few couples sat at the small tables, gazing at each other lovingly and holding hands. This place is warm, homely, and filled with love. It's everything that Four's house isn't.

"Table for two?" A tall dark-haired waiter with an Italian accent says, whilst picking up two burgundy leather-encased menus.

"Please. At my usual table," Four replies.

"Of course, Sir. Follow me," the waiter walks through the restaurant, weaving through the various tables and we follow him. He takes us to a small table in the corner of the restaurant, away from the hustle and bustle of both the kitchen and large dinner parties. The waiter pulls out a chair for me and I slide in opposite Four. He picks up the napkin from the table and drapes it over my lap before placing our menus in front of us. "What can I get you to drink?" He asks. Four looks at me first.

"I'll have whatever you're having," I say.

"Okay, we'll have a bottle of your Pino Grigio with lemonade please."

"No problem Sir, I'll be with you shortly," the waiter smiles and walks away back to the kitchen.

"I hope the food is as nice as the decor," I open up my menu and start scanning the mains list.

"Oh it's definitely better," says Four. "They have pretty much everything: pizza, pasta, meats."

"Pasta's my favourite." I eat so much pizza at home it's nice to choose a well-made pasta dish when I come to a restaurant.

"Mine too," he smiles. "Want to share the dough balls and bruschetta for starter?"

"Bruschetta?" I raise my eyebrow.

"You'll like it, it's like grilled bread covered in olive oil and tomatoes, with a bit of garlic."

"Sounds nice," I continue to scan my menu. Eventually, the waiter comes back to serve our drinks and take our order. Four orders the Spaghetti Bolognese and I order the Lamb Tagliatelle. When the waiter leaves, Four opens the bottle of wine and pours a small amount into my glass. Then he pours the glass of lemonade with it, and does the same with his.

"Try it, I think it tastes better with the lemonade," he says. I pick up the glass and sip a little. It doesn't taste strong at all, I actually like it.

"It's nice," I put the glass back down and study him for a moment. He seems calm and at ease here, the most relaxed I think I've ever seen him. "So, do you come here often?"

"At least once a week," he says, as the waiter arrives with our starters. "Thank you," he tells the waiter.

"Every week?" I reply, surprised. Why would he come to the same restaurant so many times?

"Yeah," he chuckles. "I like it here. I feel comfortable," he shrugs his shoulders and bites into a dough ball. I do the same, dipping it in butter first. "I come here when I want to get away from everything."

"You come here alone?"

"I've never brought anyone here before. I don't even think I've ever _told_ anyone about this place before."

"So what makes me so special?" I sip my drink again, finishing off my starter.

"I like your company," he says simply. I decide to leave it at that for now because I know he doesn't like to be bombarded with questions. We talk about Chicago and the other places that we've visited. I've never left America, but he travelled to Europe when he was younger. Soon enough, the waiter arrives again. This time, to take away our empty plates and replace them with our food. It smells delicious. Four orders another pitcher of lemonade and we tuck into the food. "Did you want to do anything after this? Do you like going to the cinema or anything?"

"I'm good. I don't usually go out that much," I laugh.

"Then what do you normally do all the time when you're with Lynn?"

"I don't know, we just…hang out I suppose."

"Okay, so do you want to 'hang out' when we've finished eating?" He looks at me waiting for my response, but I pause, looking down at my plate.

"Four, you don't have to feel sorry for me because you think I'll be lonely without Lynn. Just because she's not around right now doesn't mean the duty of babysitting me has been passed on to you."

"I don't want to babysit you Tris," he frowns. I don't feel like making him angry tonight so I just nod in response and we continue to eat in silence. "Is your food good?" He eventually asks me.

"Yeah, really good. Is yours?"

"Mhmm," he has a mouthful of food. "Always is." I know I tried to drop the earlier topic of discussion but I can't help but think about it. Him saying that he liked my company bothers me, because I don't know what he means by that. I don't know what he thinks about me. And I want to know.

"What did you mean, when you said that you liked my company?" I ask. He slows down chewing his food and looks away from his plate for a moment, before wiping his mouth on the napkin and looking up at me, knife and fork still in hand.

"I meant that I like spending time with you." He shrugs me off and continues eating, but I'm not going to let him get away with it that easily.

"But what about the others? You know, your best friends…"

"They're not my best friends," he says shortly, and swallows a gulp of his drink. I can tell he's becoming irritated with my questioning but that won't stop me.

"So they're just friends and acquaintances?"

"I don't know Tris," he puts his drink back down and I can sense his leg bobbing up and down underneath the table. "Sometimes, they can all act like dicks to be honest," he shrugs his shoulder nonchalantly and continues to eat.

"Why do you hang around with them then?"

"I suppose they help pass the time a little," he grins mischievously. "I mean, don't get me wrong. I like Zeke, he's been my friend for years. And the others are okay, it's just that, they don't really… understand me."

"What is it that's so hard to understand?"

"You wouldn't get it," he shakes his head and fiddles with the end of the napkin.

"Why do you do that?" I put my knife and fork down, now finished with my food.

"Do what?"

"Impassively say something that has a double meaning, whenever you talk about yourself."

"I mean," he drags out, and sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You wouldn't get it because you don't see me through the same _lens_ as they do."

"Same lens?" I-" He cuts me off.

"You understand me, without even realising it. You _know_ me…you already know who I am. You may not understand it yet yourself, but soon you'll realise."

"I really wish that you would stop talking in riddles."

"It's just," his tone of voice starts to elevate, but then he takes a deep breath, controlling himself. "I don't like talking about myself. But with you, it's more approachable. I can see myself in you." I frown a little, watching him avoid making eye contact with me. "Why do you think I keep talking to you? Invite only _you_ here, when I've known you for just a month and everyone else for years. I just think it would be nice to have a friend like you," his cheeks start to warm a little. "It would be nice to have someone who I actually talk to, someone who doesn't look at me like I'm some kind of alien species." He laughs.

"I know how you feel," I bite my cheek and he finally looks at me.

"Like now. I'm answering your questions, and talking about _feelings._" He scratches the back of his neck. "Which is something that I never do. Ever."

"Well, we don't have to talk about it anymore, wouldn't want you to implode."

"I'd appreciate that," he smiles weekly and I laugh at him. There's something that's becoming easier about our conversations, and we both have a certain fire to ourselves that isn't always a piece of cake to deal with. I decide, it's going to be nice having a friend like Four. From the outside, we're so different, we may as well have been born in different galaxies. But, I know that there is something more to him. Something more to those blue eyes, even if that something is pain or torture.

* * *

**A/N- as always, thank you for the reviews, the favourites and the follows. And generally just your overall support! I will probably be posting the next chapter very soon, just to catch up on my updating schedule and because I have written ahead quite considerably. ****  
**

**Hope you liked this Fourtris chapter**

**See you next time! :)**


	14. Support Group

**A/N- I don't own Divergent, rights belong to Veronica Roth. **

* * *

September 4th

At the beginning of the week, I got a letter in the mail from the police. I thanked my lucky stars that my mom didn't see it, when I just happened to be walking home and decided to empty the mail box. Sitting there, was the letter. Waiting for me. It was giving me the details of the support group that I have to attend, which so happens to be tonight at six in the evening. It's in the centre of Chicago and is honestly the last thing on earth that I want to do. However, I know I'm going to have to get it over with if I want that night of my birthday to remain dead and buried. It's three in the afternoon, and I'm staring at the clock, figuring how the hell I'm going to get into Chicago. Earlier, I started to tap away at my laptop and worked out that I would have to take two different buses, and then walk for twenty minutes to get there. I don't know how long the support group will take, but I honestly don't think I should be walking around Chicago on my own at night. Especially when I don't know where I'm going. I tap my fingers on the table, staring at my mobile phone. There's one person who I can call. One person who told me to call whenever I needed anything. Right now, I genuinely need something. To call or not to call. Eventually, after a long-winded internal debate, I decide that it's my only option. I select Four's contact number and hold the phone to my ear, listening to it ring out. It rings for a while before there's finally an answer.

"Hey Tris, I'm just at work. Is everything okay?" He utters quietly.

"I'm sorry, I honestly didn't want to bother you. But I um, need your help." I reply, timidly. I wish I didn't need to ask him for anything.

"Sure, no problem, what is it?"

"Could you give me a ride to that support group I'm supposed to attend? It's just that it's in the city and I don't want to tell my mom and-"

"I'll take you, you don't need to ask twice. What time does it start?"

"Thank you so much," I sigh. "It starts at six."

"I'll be outside your house at half five then."

"I owe you one!"

"No you don't," he laughs. "I'll see you then Tris."

"Okay, bye Four." The line goes dead and I feel a flash of relief. At least this way there's no chance of things going wrong. Although, I am becoming increasingly worried about the police station sending me letters. It would be so easy for them to just send another one, and subsequently my mom would probably see it and demand an explanation. It seems as though I'm going to have to run out to get the mail every morning for a few weeks. Yippee.

When it gets to five o'clock, I decide to head upstairs and chose something to wear. I know it's just a support group but I at least want to look my age if I'm going to be around a bunch of other teenagers. As I flick through my wardrobe, I realise how desperately I need to go shopping and get some new clothes. But I hate shopping with a passion so I doubt that's going to happen any time soon. I decide to put it off until autumn when I will have to buy some warmer clothes. I slip on a different pair of jeans and shirt, and pull my hair out of its pony tail. This will have to do. I hope we don't have to speak in front of everyone, I don't even know what to expect. I'm still stood in my room when I hear the beep of a car horn outside my house. Four. I grab my bag and stuff the letter in, running down the stairs. As per usual, my mom's at the hospital so luckily I don't have to explain myself to her. I head out the front door, locking it behind me, and slide into the passenger seat in his car.

"So, where are we going?" He smiles at me.

"I've got a map and directions here," I pull out the letter that the police sent to me and hand it to him. He examines it for a moment, nodding his head.

"Yeah I know where this is. Buckle up." I do as he says as he begins to drive away from my house, heading into the city. The last time I was here was when Four was driving me home, away from the station. I've never had a chance to actually venture into the city and experience it in a way that I normally would. Now, it's tainted with a negative memory. I hope some day I will be able to enjoy it. About twenty minutes later, we're pulling into a large car park which is mostly empty. There's a one story building that looks comparable to a modern church or youth club type place. They're undeniably function rooms for counselling. There are huge banners advertising various teenage support groups that are held on different days.

"Are you ready for the torture to begin?" Four smirks at me.

"I don't think I'll ever be ready for this," I huff and unbuckle my seat belt. "I'll just go and get it over with."

"I'll walk you in and pick you up after." He gets out of the car and I follow him into the gloomy looking building. Only when we're on our way do we see all the other teenagers heading to the same destination. They seem…different. Particularly intimidating. They correspond to your stereotypical image of teenagers who get themselves in trouble with the law. I catch eye contact with a girl with a side pony tail and huge hooped earrings, she stares at me as if she's trying to shrink me or turn me into dust. I keep close to Four, and follow him into the building. Once we're inside and get to the double doors of the large hall that holds the support group, Four grabs me by the shoulders and pulls me to the side.

"I'm not letting you go in there," he says, while a boy that smells of alcohol and piss walks past us.

"But I have to! It was part of my caution for the drinking and the drugs." As much as I would love for him to just take me home right now, there's no other way.

"But Tris, you don't belong in there. Look at them," he glances around us, then continues to bore his blue eyes into mine. I don't know what I was expecting. I thought it would be a normal support group for teenagers, where they all cry about their problems, talk about bullying, and make each other bracelets. This support group is in a run-down part of the city, and it's obviously the place that they all get sent to after they have a run in with the law. Police funded. They seem to be incredibly beaten down by life. It's sad, really.

"Then what am I supposed to do? The police will try to contact me or something! My mom will find out and who knows, they might try to make me do community service or something." He sighs and inspects the floor, obviously thinking hard about what to do.

"Fine, but I'm coming in with you." He tries to hold back a smile.

"Are you a troubled teen?" I raise an eyebrow at him.

"Yes. Nineteen years old and addicted to pornography," he says in a serious tone. I burst out laughing.

"You can't say that!"

"Why not?"

"Because that's stupid! Just say that you got caught stealing or something." I can't believe he's honestly thinking of doing this.

"Do I look like a thief?" He gestures to his work clothes, a well-fitted designer suit and tie. I sigh, exasperated. There's no way that he can pass for nineteen, let alone a criminal.

"Why did you have to dress like you're going into Hollywood or something," I walk up to him and start to undo his tie, pulling it off from around his neck, then shove it into my bag. I also undo the first couple of buttons on his shirt. Damn, for some reason now he looks even better than he did before. I make him pull off his suit jacket, and tie it around my waist. It's black so it's not that obvious, it just looks like a normal jacket. I examine him for a second and he just stares at me, eyebrows raised.

"Are you trying to undress me, Tris?" He asks when I un-tuck his shirt from his pants.

"No, Im trying to make you look more like a nineteen year old hood rat. It's not a total success but a vast improvement," I stand on my tiptoes and mess up his hair a bit with my hands. When I stand back to examine my handiwork, I realise, I didn't make him look dishevelled. I made him look sexy. Fail.

"Whatever, this will have to do." I grab his arm and we walk through the double doors together. It's quite a large room, and in the middle is a circle of plastic chairs. Around the edge of the room there are various tables filled with leaflets, snacks, and drinks. People are helping themselves before sitting down. We walk into the middle of the group, and we're to the last ones to arrive.

"Hello! Please, come and take a seat in our circle of trust," a middle-aged woman with short brown hair says. We take a seat next to each other, opposite the woman in the circle. I stifle a snigger at the sight of Four on the tiny plastic chairs, he looks like a giant in a dolls house. "Welcome, everyone. My name is Linda, please make yourselves comfortable." I examine the room and the teenagers who are sitting down, there's a pungent smell in the room. I don't want to know what it is. A small, shy looking girl with mousey brown hair comes and sits down in the empty seat next to mine. She's swallowed up in a huge hoodie and leggings. She looks tired and even skinnier than I am. "Now," Linda continues. "We're going to go around in the circle, introducing ourselves. We're going to tell each other our name, age and why we are here. Would you like to start, dear?" She asks the girl next to her.

"My name's Stacy. Fifteen years old. Alcoholic." Says a tall, chunky girl with dirty blonde hair. She looks confident and ballsy.

"Daniel. Stealing. Seventeen." A boy with black hair and olive skin says. His voice hasn't yet broken and he looks young for his age.

"Rob. Eighteen. Drugs," he has a pale complexion and wears all black, he looks directly at me and I quickly look away.

Soon enough, everyone is looking at me. Because it's my turn. My voice nearly gets stuck in my throat, I hate public speaking, I can't do it. I hate the way everyone is looking at me expectantly. I don't want to do this. I unquestionably _don't_ want to do this. I pray that my cheeks don't heat up and nearly swallow my tongue. "Tris. I'm eighteen. I'm here for drinking and drugs." It doesn't feel right, drinking and drugs aren't my problem. I just got caught doing it when I shouldn't have. All of these people look like their problems have effected them. While Four and I are sat here, happy as Larry.

"Fighting. I'm nineteen years old. My name is Four." His knuckles tighten around his seat. I remember what he told me that day that he picked me up from the station. About how he got arrested, for assault. I wonder why he chose to say something that he actually used to have a problem with. I bet he's been here before, and this must be some terrible flashback.

"Four like the number?" A confident boy asks.

"Exactly like the number," Four says to him. He says it in a quiet, deadly, intimidating manner.

"Nah, that's cool dude. I aint sayin' nothin'." The boy retorts, leaning back slightly and holding his hands up in surrender. He obviously doesn't want to get on Four's bad side. I don't blame him.

"Is Four a gang name?" A girl asks.

"You look about twenty-five," another voice pipes up.

"Alright, alright! Quiet down everyone! Next person, off you go," says Linda. I look at Four and he gives me a reassuring smile. I can't believe he's doing this for me. The rest of the group continue to tell us their names, age and problems. It's generally all just drugs, alcohol and petty crimes. For a while, Linda talks about the effects that our criminal behaviour has on other people. Such as how stealing from a shop affects the person's business and therefore their family life. She tells us how it will also affect our future, and if we get a criminal record, we will find it difficult to secure a well-paid job and go to college. I honestly don't think anyone is listening. It looks like they've all been here before.

"Often, and you may not even realise this," Linda says. "There is often a trigger. A trigger for you wanting to take a drink, wanting to steal that new game in the shop, wanting to hit someone. Can anyone think of something that has triggered them in the past?"

"What could a trigger be?" The girl, Stacy, asks.

"It could be anything. Maybe you're bullied at school. Maybe your home life isn't that great. You might even just be lonely."

"My boyfriend used to make me feel bad about myself, and he pressured me to take things with his friends," another girl across the room says.

"My older brother got me in with his gang. I genuinely didn't have a choice." A boy with his hood up murmurs.

"Girls at my school bully me because of my short hair. I got depressed so I started taking drugs hoping that they would make me happier," the girl with the mousey brown hair sat next to me says.

"What about you, Tris?" Linda asks me.

"What?" I say. I don't really have drugs or alcohol issues, so there isn't a lot for me to contribute.

"You were drinking underage and taking illegal substances. Was there anything that was making you sad?" There are lots of things that make me sad. I shake my head a little. "Nothing that made you angry?" I swallow and look at the floor. My mom makes me angry. "Have you ever had a very negative experience?" I squeeze my eyes shut and furrow my brows. "Has there ever been anyone who's said mean things to you? Perhaps they've made you feel worthless?" My heart drums and there's a buzzing in my ear.

"Stop it," I say, trying to shout but it dies in my throat.

"Who's made you feel worthless, Tris?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"That's why we're here, Tris." I survey the room, some people stare at the floor, some give me blank or sympathetic expressions. "This is a safe room. We're all here to help each other. To tell each other our sad thoughts so that we can move on and understand ourselves." I don't look at Four. I wish he wasn't here. "I want everyone here to raise their hands if they've ever been called a nasty name." Everyone raises their hands except for me. "Have you ever been called a nasty name, Tris?" I stare her in the eye and nod my head. "Did it make you feel bad about yourself?" I nod my head again. "Was it someone who was close to you? Someone who you spent a large amount of time with, or lived with?" Again, I nod my head. My mom's ex-husband. "Why don't you tell us some of the things they said to you?" _There are countless names._ Bitch. Idiot. Skinny. Ugly. Dirty. Pig.

"I can't say it," I whisper. I can't repeat those words. Then it will feel real.

"That's okay. We are ready to listen when you are ready to speak," Linda says to me. She carries on talking to the rest of the group but I zone out, buried beneath my dark thoughts. This is the worst punishment they could have ever given me, I would rather sit in a cell for a week. At the end of the discussion, she walks around and hands us each a leaflet about our problems. She doesn't give me an alcohol or drugs related issue leaflet. She hands me a few different ones, about psychological abuse, domestic violence and coping with anxiety and depression. She stops in front of me for a moment, and hands me a card.

"Here's my number. I run private sessions if you would ever like to talk." She lets the card sit on my lap amongst the leaflets before walking away and handing everyone else theres. When she's finished, I get up off my seat and march through the door without waiting for Four, stuffing the leaflets into my bag.

"Tris!" Four shouts. I try to hold back tears but whenever I blink they stream down my face. He catches up to me once I'm out the building and grabs me by the arms, leaning down a little to look me in the eye, my back against the wall. I can't believe I'm crying in front of him. As if this day could get any worse. The tears increase, and so does the hurt and anger.

"Why did she do that?" I sob, my voice filled with rage. "What good came out of that, huh? Is that how she gets her kicks? From making kids talk about their fucked up feelings and idiot families!" I know my face probably looks ugly and contorted with a wide range of emotions, but I don't care right now. He looks at me and shakes his head, suddenly pulling me against his chest with so much force I think I'm going to pass through him. I remain stiff, but when he rubs his hands on my back and leans his chin on my head, I release a held-in breath and close my eyes. We stay like that for a minute, before he pulls away.

"Come on, we need to get back to the car." He keeps his harm firmly around my shoulders whilst we walk back to his car. When we're in I hand him his jacket back. We buckle up and he pulls out of the car park in silence. We hit a lot of traffic since we're in the city, the quiet music that plays on the radio fills the car. It's started to rain for the first time in a while, and the squeaking noise of the windscreen wipers against the glass are calming, along with the pitter patter of rain. However, this is still a very depressing evening. We still haven't said anything to each other yet, but I can tell he wants to. I remain looking straight ahead. In my peripheral vision, I can see that he continues to look at me, then at the road, then at me again. I have no doubt that he's trying to piece his words together, perhaps engaging in an internal argument.

"That day when you found me drunk," his deep voice breaks through the silence. "It was the anniversary of my mother's death." I take a minute to process what he just announced before turning my head incredibly slowly to look at him with what can only be described as a baffled expression on my face. He squeezes the wheel tightly and purses his lips together. I let him continue. "She died when I was fourteen. They discovered the cancer too late and there was nothing they could do. I was laying down with her when she died, holding her hand." I swallow and eventually find my voice.

"Four, that's…that's terrible. I'm so sorry that happened to you."

"I know. I really loved her. So did Marcus. That's why I never understood why he married Sarah, how he managed to move on."

"For some people, moving on is the only way." I think about the countless men my mother has brought home since her and my dad got a divorce. All she's ever done is search for a new kind of happiness with someone else.

"Yeah, I know. And I really am trying to come to terms with that. It's just every year, on that particular day. I don't cope very well."

"That's understandable," I spare a glimpse at him and he smiles sadly. "I take it that these are things you don't tell people?"

"What do you mean?"

"About the fighting and your mom. I'm the first person you've spoken to about it, aren't I?"

"How did you know," he says glumly.

"Because of the way that you tell me. It's serious, like your giving me something," I shrug.

"I am giving you something. I'm trusting you."

"Well, you can always trust me," I smile.

"I'll hold you to that."

We approach my house, and it feels good to be back home. "Get your keys ready so you don't get soaked." He looks outside at the rain that's pouring down. I reach into the front pocket of my bag and grab my house keys. My mother's car is in the driveway, I need to think up an excuse of where I've been.

"Thanks for doing that for me. I'm sorry you had to come in there."

"Tris, just forget about it. We don't have to talk about it anymore," he shakes his head. I'm thankful that he's not trying to pry information out of me or ask me if I'm okay.

"I'll see you soon then."

"If I don't see you through the week, I'll see you through the window." He winks and I laugh at how stupid he can be. When I get out of the car and walk up to my front door, a little part of me hopes that it's just me that sees his softer side. I put my keys in the door and Four beeps his car while driving away, I wave one last time and walk in the house. I can hear my mom rustling around in the kitchen.

"Beatrice, you didn't eat the food I left out for you." She says to me, standing back up again after routing through the cupboards.

"I know, sorry," I slip my shoes off by the door.

"Who was that?" Her hands are on her hips.

"Who was what?"

"Who's car were you just in?" She sighs. Then I remember, I forgot to think of an excuse.

"It was Four." I walk past her and open the refrigerator, looking for something I can eat quickly. My mother looks at me with an amused expression on her face.

"What were you doing?" She sits on the kitchen chair, crossing her legs.

"Nothing."

"Nothing?"

"Nothing." I'm such a terrible liar. I really should work on that.

"Were you alone at his house?" She abruptly asks. I nearly spit and choke on my drink. She thinks I was with him, in _that_ way. My cheeks burn. Which is worse? Support group or sex?

"Mom! What the hell?" I nearly scream, my face holds a hopeless expression. I stomp my foot a little like an annoyed child.

"Beatrice I need to know what you get up to when I'm gone, and whether your making the right decisions."

"Mom please, stop. There's a library in Chicago that I wanted to go to and get this book that I wanted. It was late so I didn't want to get the bus on my own, I called Uriah but he didn't pick up so then I rang Four!" Wow. Where did that come from? Desperate times call for desperate measures. My brain actually decided to work. My mother looks at me for a moment, her face softening.

"Oh, I see. I'm sorry I just, want you to be safe."

"Well, I am very safe mom. And I'm eighteen, so I'm not having the sex talk with you, alright?"

"As long as you know the consequences of-" I plug my ears and start chanting.

"La la la la la. Going to my room now goodnight. La la la la." I march up the stairs with my bag slung off my shoulders, and slam the door behind me. I shiver a little, thankful that _that_ awkward conversation was almost avoided. Almost. I collapse on my bed and run my hands through my hair. What a stressful evening that was. I zip open my bag to pull out my phone, and take the leaflets and shove them at the back of my bookshelf behind my books. Then I look in my bag, and see Four's purple and blue patterned tie sat in the bottom. I forgot to give it him back. I pull it out of my bag carefully, running it through my hands. I sit on my bed, holding the tie to my lips.

* * *

**PLEASE READ: I just want to clarify that in my story, Evelyn (Four's mother, obv) really did die. She's not going to come back later on in the story with a 'surprise!' and piss Four off. She was a doting, loving mother and wife, who sadly died of cancer when Four was 14. Also, Marcus never hit Four with a belt and didn't lock him in cupboards. I'm not saying that he never hit Four, but he certainly isn't a psychopathic child abuser.**

**Thanks so much for the support: reviews, follows, favs :) I appreciate it. **


	15. Visitation

**A/N= Divergent rights belong to Veronica Roth. **

* * *

September 10th

"Are you sure you don't want me to come in with you?"

"Four, I told you, I'll be fine. Marlene is driving me there and then driving me back again," I reassure him. I lay on my bed, looking up at my ceiling which is painted like a cloudy sky, whilst holding the phone between my shoulder and ear as I mindlessly flick through a magazine. Lately, I've gotten used to waking up early in the mornings and listening to his deep voice through the phone line before he leaves for work. He's made a habit of ringing me after his morning shower and I'm not one to complain.

"Is she not going in with you to see her?"

"No, she went to visit her on Monday with Shauna. I asked if I could just see Lynn alone, I don't really want anyone else there."

"Are you allowed to go in on your own?" I can imagine the frown lines forming between his eyebrows as he speaks, the corners of his mouth turning down fractionally.

"Yes, you have to be eighteen or over. And, obviously, I am eighteen," I sigh and roll over onto my side. "Four, seriously, stop worrying."

"I know, I know. I just want you to be okay, it's not exactly like going to a theme park, is it."

"No, but it's not going to be as bad as when I was actually _in_ a cell. I can handle it, honestly. Hell, I'll even let them strip search me if they have to. I'll do anything to be able to see her."

"Well I'd rather they didn't strip search you," he laughs, however we both know he's being serious.

"Yeah," I grin. "Me too, but I was just saying…"

"I know. You're strong. You know it, I know it, we all know it. But just be prepared, okay? It's not going to be nice seeing her in there."

"It won't. But I'd rather not think about that right now, I'll deal with that when it comes."

"Okay, sorry. I just worry, I can't help it. I've never worried about anyone else before."

"Aren't I the lucky one," I say sarcastically. It's nice to be cared about, but I ignore the fact that the 'else' referred to his mother, not himself.

"You are! Listen, I've just pulled up outside work. I'll talk to you tonight alright?"

"Yeah, I should be home around five-ish."

"Speak to you then."

"Bye," I hang up. Then I start to think about Four and his mother. He must think about her a lot, and it makes me sad. A few nights ago, we were talking on the phone about christmas. He said that he's never enjoyed christmas since his mother passed, and then he started to talk about the little things that she did for him that made him feel loved and happy. I let him talk for fifteen minutes straight, uninterrupted, just about her. Eventually, I heard his voice starting to crack and he told me he had to go to bed, hanging up the phone immediately. It broke my heart. I've learned that Four is much easier to talk to when we're not face-to-face; he doesn't get as short tempered and talks about real things. Or maybe it's not the fact he's talking on the phone, it might be because he's talking to me. I hope it is. I really do.

It's midday, and having just showered and dressed, I wait for Marlene to arrive at my house so that we can go to the prison. It will take us about an hour to drive there, but at least Marlene knows the way. I take my phone and some change for the vending machines, and soon enough Marlene is outside my house beeping the horn. I jog out, locking the door behind me, and jump in the passenger seat.

"Hey, how's it going?" She smiles at me, sporting her designer sunglasses and two-piece plaid outfit. She looks similar to a person out of a magazine.

"Not too bad," I look down at the outfit I decided to wear: sweatpants and a hoodie. It's only prison after all, right?

"We could stop off for something to eat if you want," she begins to pull out and drive down the road.

"I think I'd rather just go straight to see Lynn, if that's okay?"

"Fine with me," she continues to look ahead at the road. "Hey so we missed you on Sunday. Uriah really wanted you to be there," she pouts.

"I know, I'm sorry. I should have gone but I honestly didn't feel up to it." Sunday was the big send-off for Uriah, he vacated to college on Monday. Everyone gathered together at Faction Ave but I really wasn't in the right frame of mind to spend time with a whole bunch of people. I felt emotionally drained. Also, it didn't feel fair on Lynn, but I suppose I'll have to get used to that. "Have you spoken to him? Is he settling in?"

"Yeah he loves it! He's already been to a couple of parties," she laughs. "Please can we do something this weekend for my send-off, though? I really want one last night going out here before I head off to LA."

"Yes, definitely," I smile.

We arrive at what Marlene says is the prison, and so far it doesn't look as daunting as what I thought it might. It's a low-key seemingly run down concrete building, places of it are covered in wood panelling that seriously needs re-painting. The car park is small, but with only a few spaces left. Marlene pulls up in the one that's nearest the entrance and pulls the key out of the ignition, whilst still leaving the radio on quietly.

"So, you just go through those doors," she points to the entrance. "And there is a reception area as soon as you walk in, can't miss it. There will probably be a queue, but you have to sign in and listen to the instructions before you go anywhere else. So, after that you should be good to go, there will be someone to tell you what's what," she smiles.

"Thanks, you sure you'll be alright waiting out here?"

"Yeah, I'll just listen to the radio, you're only allowed to see her for half an hour." Half an hour, that's what our time has been limited down to. "You might want to just leave your bag and phone and stuff in here so that you don't have to bother paying for a locker."

"Right, okay. I'll see you soon then," I unbuckle my seatbelt and shove my bag on the car floor, but not before taking out my passport and shoving it in my pocket. When I hop out of the car, I feel a heavy weight in my chest anchoring me down, but I must remember to stay calm and grounded for Lynn's sake if not my own. I walk through the car park, venturing through the automatic sliding doors of the main reception area of the prison. As Marlene described, there's a couple of people sat behind a glass separation wall, typing away furiously at their computers whilst simultaneously checking people's passports and driving licenses. The carpet is firm and tough under my feet, bobbled with incessant use. The room is filled with shiny metal seats and benches, and artificial house plants carelessly placed in various corners. The walls are coated with grey metallic lockers, and people mill around them trying to shove their belongings into the tiny cubby holes. I join the back of the queue behind a short dark-haired man, patiently waiting to check myself in. I stand in line for about five minutes before it's finally my turn. The man asks me for my identification in a monotonous, disinterested voice, and asks me to sign my name on a form below many other's. He informs me that phones aren't allowed in the prison and to place any belongings into one of the lockers, but I assure him that I have nothing except for my passport, so he gives me the 'ok' to walk through to the security checks. I walk over to a female prison officer who is standing by the door, she smiles at me tightly and leads me into a small stuffy hallway. First of all she checks my pockets, before instructing me to walk through the large metal detector. This is all very similar to the security checks at the airport, and I have to remind myself that I'm in a prison, not a touring destination. She pats me down lightly, which is easy due to my choice of clothing, and instructs me to join the back of yet another queue. We all stand there for about ten minutes, before we're finally lead into a reasonable sized meeting room, illuminated by the flouresant lighting and stark white walls. The navy blue carpet and small rectangular tables, with a chair placed by each side gives a classroom-like feel to the place. I always hated school. I stand awkwardly for a moment, continuing to examine my surrounding. There are a couple of vending machines with handwritten 'out of order' signs lazily taped to the front, and one wall is plastered in government posters.

"Please, take a seat at one of the tables Ma'am," the same prison officer tells me. I do as she says, gingerly sitting on the plastic seat on a table in the corner of the room. Eventually, I hear a buzzing noise, and the door at the other end of the room opens. People, who I assume to be prisoners, donning grey sweatpants, sweatshirts or khakis all file into the room looking sullen and excitable all at the same time. When I see her, I can see why Four didn't want me to be alone. Her hair hangs dry and limp around her face, the side of her shaved head has grown out in tufts. An incredibly deep blue and purple colour surround her eyes— which look more like pits— and her skin is garishly white. She looks frail and translucent. She walks over to me too timidly, without even lifting her head from where it hangs between her shoulders. She sits in the chair opposite me, placing her bloodied bitten fingers on the table top.

"Lynn," I croak. She finally looks up at me, her eyes somehow still holding onto that spark. Her face twitches, and the table shakes due to her incessant fidgeting.

"Hey, Tris," her voice sounding nervous and on-edge. "I-I didn't think you'd come see me," a nervous laugh bubbles in her throat, soon becoming hysterical. She swallows a few times, calming herself down. She's broken. And she's deranged.

"How are you?" I know that asking this seems pretty pointless, but I want to talk about the fact that she is seemingly out of her mind. The only person I would want to talk to about Lynn being crazy is…Lynn.

"I'm fucking dying in here Tris," she gives me a look of desperation. "It's good to see you though. I'm sorry you have to come here."

"Don't be sorry, I want to see you."

"I bet you don't want to see me like this," she snorts. "Don't worry, it's just the cravings. I'll get my head screwed back on soon enough. I promise."

"I didn't realise you were taking that many," I admit sullenly.

"Honestly, neither did I." There's an air of uncomfortable silence between us before she elaborates. "I think it's good though, getting clean. Then when I'm out of here I won't need all that shit."

"You'll be out of here soon enough. Are you keeping your head down? Is anyone bothering you?"

"Nah it's cool. They all know I'm just a stupid kid with no money so they just leave me to it."

"I really miss you," I say.

"Do you?" She replies, in an almost accusatory tone.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing," she sniffs loudly, even though she doesn't have a cold. "Shauna just said you were fine."

"Obviously I get lonely without you."

"Yeah," she scoffs. I frown for a moment, wondering what she's getting at. She continues to bite her nails and bob her leg up an down, now sitting sideways on the chair.

"Hector is doing really well at football, Zeke and Shauna take him every Tuesday and Saturday, he's scored quite a few goals, especially since Zeke taught him a few tricks. Shauna has been videoing it all for you so you can watch it when you get back. And I know when you get out you won't be able to leave the house and all, but he's been playing with Zeke in the back garden and he can't wait to show you everything that-"

"Is that your t-shirt?" Lynn cuts me off. I stare at her in silence for a moment.

"No, it's not." I reply. She nods her head a little, before carrying on with the nail biting. "So, as I was saying… Hector is really looking forward to seeing you. Your mom and dad don't want him to come here because he's still only young, but I'm sure he's going to keep you company when you come home."

"_Home?_ Tris, don't you get it? That place was never my home. It's a place where I felt rejected and unwanted. And now I'm being forced to spend a year in there, without being allowed to escape for even just five minutes. Do you know how _painful _that's going to be? How _torturous_ it's going to be? Having my mom hover over me all day, telling me how she's going to get me 'cured' and bring the priest round to banish the awful thoughts I have about other women, and the thoughts I have about death and drugs. I'd rather be here."

"I'm sorry, I didn't realise."

"Save it. You're too penned up in your own little world. Don't worry, I am too. That's why we get on so well," she smirks. I don't feel like returning her humour, because no matter how light-hearted she acts, her words still hurt me.

"So what's life like on the inside?" I ask her, changing the subject.

"Controlled, on edge, meaningless. Like I said, I keep to myself. They're all older than me and have more... life experience," she laughs, obviously implying a double meaning that I don't understand. Lynn has always been one to turn her back on the crowd, she looks out for herself.

"Does it get really lonely?"

"I mean, I guess. I have books to read because there's a library, and my job is to help clean the outside area so I spend most of my time doing that. It helps that I get to see you guys and speak to you on the phone." She gives me eye contact now, more engaged in the discussion. "But I'm not a prison wife if that's what you're getting at." I nearly choke on thin air when she says this, most of the people in the visitation room start staring me down.

"No, that's _not_ what I was getting at. At all."

"Good, because I wouldn't 'befriend' anyone in there, for Marlene's sake."

"Okay…How is Marlene? I mean, I haven't really talked to her about you or anything."

"She's fine, I guess," Lynn sighs. "I saw her on Monday, and I've spoken to her on the phone twice since then. But she's going across country next week so God only knows when I'll next see her."

"You'll still be able to have phone calls with her," I smile reassuringly.

"Suppose. I just get jealous, she has her own life to live and I'm not apart of it."

"If she wants you to be apart of it then you will be. But if she wants to go her own separate way, then you're just going to have to let her." It's the harsh reality, but I'm not going to coddle Lynn with a twisted version of the truth.

"I know," Lynn mutters. Just as she does, a loud bell rings through the room, and people start to stand up from their tables. "Crap, that's it. Got to get back now," she says whilst standing up.

"That wasn't even half an hour!"

"It's just the way it is," she holds her arms out for me and I follow suit, walking round the table to hug her tightly before an officer tells us to break it up and for Lynn to head back. I notice that she doesn't smell like Lynn anymore. We say our final goodbyes, and I promise to visit her again as soon as possible. When I finally step out of the prison, I feel the relief of freedom. I breath in the fresh air, which is tinted with the smell of newly cut grass around the premises. I make my way over to Marlene's car, startling her when I open the passenger door. The musics playing loudly and she's busy tapping away at her mobile phone.

"Gosh you scared me!" she says. "How did it go?"

"Fine," I sigh, leaning my head against the window. "Thanks for taking me, but I'm dying to get home now."

"Sure," Marlene almost whispers, giving me a sympathetic smile. We drive home in silence.

It's quite late when we get back to my house, and Marlene doesn't hang around. I'm barely at home for half an our when I hear a solid nock repeatedly hitting the front door, as if someones hitting it with their boot. I stay frozen on the bed for a moment, my face scrunched up, before the nocking becomes even more impatient and I'm forced out of my confusion. "Coming!" I run down the stairs, and swing the door open, a little breathless.

"Hurry up or I'll drop it," Four pushes past me, carrying in his arms what looks to be a huge flatscreen.

"Jeez Four, what the hell is that?" I follow him into the living room where he places the TV on the empty cabinet, where our old far less superior looking one once sat.

"It's a microwave," he rolls his eyes at me. "I decided to turn my old games room into an office, so I don't need it anymore." He stands next to it, one hand on the top, proudly grinning.

"No way, I can't accept this," I shake my head and pull him away from it, ready to pick up one end.

"Seriously Tris, It's either bringing it here or donating it. I've had it since I was a freshman, me and Zeke used to play video games on it until three in the morning. I don't think I've switched it on for at least a year." He starts to plug in the power socket and aerial, disappearing behind the cabinet. I watch him bending down, but then avert my gaze when I realise I was staring inappropriately. He gets up, pulling his shirt town which had ridden up, and grabs the remote to turn it on. He starts setting it up, tuning in all the channels. "It still works great though, HD picture quality." I silently watch as all the channels begin to tune in, the fuzziness turning into flashing pictures.

"I don't know what to say, you really didn't have to do this."

"You could start with a thank you," he smiles.

"Thank you," I rush out, too quickly. "Seriously though, it's very kind of you. I appreciate it."

"No problem. I didn't see a point in me coming round here if there wasn't a TV to watch," he smirks.

"Shut up," I slap his arm. "My mom wasn't planning on replacing it. I think she was secretly thankful that I wrecked the old one, she's never been one for technology."

"She's going to love me then," Four laughs. "Oh, I forgot, go to the back seat of my car," he rummages in his pocket and pulls out his car keys, handing them to me. "There's Chinese food waiting for us. It will probably need heating up though." I grin at him and make my way out of the house to his sporty car, which now smells of chicken and noodles. I pull out the white plastic bag that's been sat on the back seat, heating up the leather and causing a humid wet patch. I lock the car door behind me and head back inside. We heat up the food, and splay it all out on the coffee table in front of the sofa. Four flicks through the channels, until he comes across a movie that just started five minutes ago. We eat and watch in silence, simply enjoying each others company like we so often do lately. It's nice to not feel so lonely, even if we don't talk our socks off. I like easy companionship like this, and so does he. When we're finished, and my legs are now tucked under me and Four's are perched up on the coffee table, one crossed over the other, he breaks the silence.

"So, go on, tell me about today," he says while still staring at the TV screen, his arms stretched across the back of the sofa.

"It was bad," I whisper. Now he turns to look at me, he deep blue eyes boring into mine. "She wasn't the same."

"No," he says as if he already knew.

"She made me feel guilty, like I've done something wrong but I don't know what."

"Don't let her. You haven't done anything wrong Tris. She's just going through a lot, and that sometimes makes people become bitter."

"I feel ashamed of myself sometimes though," I look down and fidget with the blanket that's draped across the sofa.

"Ashamed of what?"

"My thoughts." He keeps quiet for a moment, patiently waiting for me to expand, but I don't.

"What thoughts?"

"That," I take a deep breath. "That she's better off in there. That I'm kind of glad she's in there. Away from me."

"It doesn't make you a bad person," his hand falls from where it was resting on the back of the couch to press against my shoulders. The touch feels foreign.

"Doesn't it though?" I almost snap.

"No, it doesn't. We're all a little selfish sometimes, to protect ourselves. What's the good of being on this planet if we're not going to protect ourselves? Survival is human nature. Wanting to be happy is human nature. And you're not wrong for wanting to be happy."

"But I should be a friend. She's going to hate it when she has to stay in that house for a year. With her family. It's going to break her. And I know she'll expect me to sit with her all day, but honestly, I don't know if I can do that."

"You don't have to do anything that you don't want to. Ever. But, I think you should worry about all that when the time comes. Who knows what things will be like in three months time when she comes out."

"You're right," I sigh.

"Always am," he winks cockily. "Now, I don't have a clue what's going on in this stupid movie. Mind if I put something else on?"

"No, go ahead," I say around a yawn. He puts on some science documentary and I have no idea what it's about; I'm not even watching it. I stare at the floor and my body starts to become heavy, slipping down on the sofa.

I feel dizzy, like the ground is falling from underneath me. Then I feel gentle swaying, like the ocean is calmly engulfing me in it's waves. Then I feel my self bobbing up and down a little, before I'm finally still again. I wiggle a little bit, and realise I'm now laying down on my mattress, which only means Four was carrying me. Even though I'm half awake, I keep my eyes shut tight because I want him to think I'm still asleep. He pulls my socks off my feet and puts my legs together under the covers, covering my body with the duvet. He tucks the hair that's fallen in front of my face behind my ear, and now that my eyes are exposed I have to try incredibly hard not to twitch or move them around. I feel the mattress jostle as he leans over me, and when I sense he's standing next to me, I hear him flick through the pages of a book. I was reading my favourite novel this morning and left it on my bed as I always do. He sets it down on my bedside table, and for a moment I hear absolutely nothing. But when I feel the warm compress of his lips against my forehead, and the humidity and heat of his breath against my hairline, I almost blow my cover of deep slumber. I feel as though I'm melting deeper and deeper into the mattress, a strange sensation overcoming me. He turns off my bedside lamp, and the click of the button echo's through my room. That's soon followed by his slow, cautious footsteps as he leaves, closing the door behind him but not without leaving it open ajar, just enough so that the light from the landing still pours through like sunlight breaking through the clouds. I open my eyes to the darkness, and listen to him walk down the stairs. I hear the scrape of metal against glass as he lifts his car keys from the side table. The front door slams shut behind him, and I can faintly hear his engine light up, and the sound of tire on tarmac as he drives away. I wish he had stayed.

* * *

**Stay tuned for the next chapter...things are going to heat up a little...that's all I'm saying ;)**

**As always, thank you for the lovely reviews! Especially to the guest reviews who I can't reply to directly. Your words make me smile. :)**


	16. One Night Stand

**A/N- I do not own Divergent or its characters. Rights go to Veronica Roth. **

* * *

September 13th

It's a Saturday night, and also Marlene's last weekend before she goes to college tomorrow night. Even though Uriah already left at the beginning of September, Marlene's course starts a little later. "So, are people going to be in fancy dress?" Tonight, Faction Ave is hosting another farewell party for the new college students, apparently they hold a celebration every weekend of September.

"Some of the more enthusiastic people do, but our group never bothers," Marlene replies. She's currently sat on my bedroom floor flicking through a magazine. I've spent more time with Marlene lately, since Uriah left and Lynn's been in prison. I don't know what Lynn thinks about this; I haven't told her. "Just wear something a little nicer than usual I suppose," she says, but I barely hear her. I'm too busy thinking about the possibility that I'll miss her when she's gone, as it will only be me that's left. Sure, I've become quite good friends with Four and I see him often. But he has his own friends, his own life, and I don't like to impose. I don't want to bother or annoy him, or for him to feel like I _need_ him. "Did you even listen what I just said?" Marlene smirks at me. She has a gentle, easy nature, she's a dream to get along with and probably couldn't hurt a fly.

"Yeah, sorry," I shake my head and laugh a little. "Just thinking."

"About…" she drags out, while lifting her eyes to look at me and then back down at her magazine again.

"Just how different things are."

"Oh," she looks sad for a moment. "I know they are, really different. But on the bright side, Lynn won't be in there for long. Everything will go back to normal." _Do I want that?_ Do I want things to go back to normal? I honestly don't know.

"I don't think things will ever go back to the way they were before, well, for Lynn anyway. That place changes people."

"Sometimes for the better, though." Marlene gives me a warm, reassuring smile. I never did ask her about Lynn, how she feels about her. I don't know if she misses her, misses her touch like you would expect lovers to. However, sadly, I don't even think Marlene liked Lynn the way Lynn liked Marlene. I have decided it's not my place, and I have never brought up the issue.

"You're right. I hope it has changed her for the better." I decide to change the subject, since talking about Lynn makes my stomach crumble and writhe. "So, what are you wearing tonight?" I try my best to smile.

"Uh, I brought these cool high-waisted trousers that my mom gave me. I know we're not exactly dressing in fancy dress, but I thought it would be nice to go with the seventies vibe a little bit." I think of Marlene's soft curvy figure and how she will look amazing in tight trousers. I suddenly don't feel like going tonight, I'm straight-waisted and could never look as womanly or attractive as her. I'll look like a child. "What are you wearing?"

"Oh I don't know yet, I don't really have anything nice." I shrug it off, I may as well just wear jeans like I normally do.

"Aw no, come on, it's my last night here. I'm sure we can find you something nice to wear." She gets up from where she's sitting on the floor and starts to route through my closet. "Jeez, are all these Lynn's clothes?" She flicks through the countless hung up t-shirts and pairs of jeans, which all pretty much look the same.

"Yeah, she always used to bring me something back when she went thrifting or gave me things that didn't fit her." I shrug, "she knew I never got any money for clothes."

"Yeah," Marlene pauses. "She's nice like that." She continues to route through my rail of clothes, before moving to the drawers at the back of my wardrobe. "Ah-ha!" I see her pulling out a folded piece of black silk-like material. She lets it unfold to reveal the tiny black mini-shift dress with spaghetti straps. "So, is this supposed to be a dress or lingerie?" She looks at me with an eyebrow raised, I bury my head in my hands.

"It's a dress. Just, a very skimpy one. My older cousin bought it me when we were living in New York." And I'll admit, it does look more like something you would wear to bed. Marlene holds it out and looks at the label.

"Just a very fancy one, too. Put it on." She thrusts it out to me, shaking it a little, and giving me an expectant look.

"You can't be serious? I'm not going out the house in that!" She continues to give me puppy dog eyes and I huff, stripping off my shirt and jeans, and pulling the dress over my head.

"Wow." Marlene stares at me, holding back a grin. "Tris, you look hot." I turn away from her to look in the mirror at myself. The material of the dress is actually thicker than what I remembered it to be, and I fill it out more since the last time I tried it. The dress is straight-cut, hiding my narrow hips but still hugging around my chest, making me have more of a shape. It does have little spaghetti straps, but thankfully isn't low-cut and covers my modesty. However, it's very short, ending just a few inches past my but. I suppose however that does make my legs look a lot longer. I feel almost…nice. Attractive, and confident even.

"I suppose it's not too bad, I don't want to look too much though." I pull at the hem of the material, straightening it out.

"Don't wear tights or stockings because then it _will_ look like lingerie," she laughs. "Wear bare legs with flat sandals. And here," she moves around my back and without hesitation, quickly moves her hand under the dress to unclasp my bra.

"Hey!" I shout, grabbing onto my chest.

"Ditch the bra, it will look better without it. Your boobs are perky enough to carry it off!" She pulls the bra straps off my arms and drags the bra away, flinging it onto the floor somewhere.

"And by 'perky' you mean 'small'," I raise an eyebrow at her and she shakes her head. She reaches into my draw and pulls out a small pair of black lacy panties that will go nicely under the dress. If my mother saw me now she would probably kill me. I know she'd rather cover me up with a trash bag before letting me out of the house like this. Marlene starts to get dressed herself, while I brush my hair. I decide to leave it straight, and apply minimal makeup so that I don't look too overdone. However, I bronze my face to match the rest of the tan on my body. iI look different. I don't look like the shy girl who hides behind her bakery uniform and baggy t-shirts. I look like someone worth looking at, worth noticing. Marlene finishes getting ready, wearing her high-wasted deep red flared trousers from the seventies, with a tiny bra top. Her soft brown hair is in a bun at the top of her head, and she starts adding jewellery. As usual, I wear the thin gold chain that was my grandmothers.

"Here," she sprays me with perfume. "How did you get so tanned?" She examines my legs and arms.

"I wear shorts and a t-shirt for work, and I guess I've been outside a lot this summer," I shrug. I used to always be so pale, because all I did was sit inside. But since I've been working at the bakery, I've been catching the sun a lot more.

"Well, you look amazing. You're going to have a hard time keeping the boys' hands off you," she smiles.

"Thanks, but I don't look as good as you. Maybe I should have worn something more seventies inspired?" I grab my little purse that has a long strap, hanging off my shoulder. I stuff my money and phone into it.

"No, you needed an excuse to finally wear that dress." She grabs my arm before we head out the door. "Hey, are you sure it's alright for me to come with you?" I find this a little odd, since she's known everyone much longer than I have.

"Why wouldn't it be? You've known them for ages. They were all your friends when I first met you."

"I know, but Four invited you, not me. I don't want them to get annoyed with me like they normally do."

"Trust me, they'll more likely get annoyed with me than you. I don't even hang out with them," I shake my head, "come on," I grab her hand as we head out the door, waiting for our taxi to arrive. I'm thankful that my mom is at work and not here to witness my slightly provocative choice of attire. Our taxi arrived, and soon enough we're both stood outside Faction Avenue. I feel hesitant to walk in, especially when I'm with Marlene, who I've learned to be as equally timid as I am. It's easy to be friends with someone who is confident like Lynn, and I've grown used to cowering behind her. Well not tonight. We spare a glance at each other before heading through the large glass double doors. The atmosphere inside hits us instantly, it's far more electric than usual. Seventies music is playing loudly, and people seem more energetic and free. I suppose this is more like what a night club looks like. However, I wouldn't know since I've never been to one. We look around before spotting the group. _The_ group. The one that we normally avoid since Shauna went crazy at Lynn and I. I take a deep breath and lead us over to the table where they're sat. When we get there, a girl with a brown bob and stocky build smiles at me and scoots over on the couch to leave room. I decide to push Marlene to sit next to her, so that she feels more involved. I take the large armchair that's situated to the side of them, facing the other sofa where Shauna avoids eye contact with me. There's a low coffee table in-between us all, piled with drinks and empty glasses. Marlene must already know the girl with the brown bob because they immediately begin engaging in a conversation, presumably catching up.

"I like your dress, Tris." Shauna says to me, while still almost looking at the floor, seemingly uncomfortable. _Is she trying to be nice?_

"Yeah," Christina agrees. "You do look really pretty," she smiles at me earnestly, nodding her head. I don't quite know how to react.

"Thanks," I say a little dubiously. I hope Four hasn't forced them to be nice to me or anything. Four. Where is he? Shauna and Christina are sat with Will and Zeke, thankfully Peter isn't here to drool over me.

"Molly's going to go and buy me a drink," Marlene shouts to me over the incredibly loud music. "She'll get you one in about fifteen minutes so it doesn't look too suspicious." I lean over so that I can hear her, but feel a large hand on my back. I turn around and see Four smiling at me. He leans down and pushes me to the side a little bit on the arm chair, his hands pressing on the bare skin of my legs. Then he squeezes in next to me, keeping a hand firmly planted on my leg.

"Hey," I say to him. He leans into my ear so that I'll be able to hear him over the music.

"You okay?" He asks.

"Yeah, I'm good thanks. Are you?"

"Yeah. You look really beautiful." I smile shyly at his comment and tense up a little, I'm not used to him saying things like that to me. I'm not used to anyone saying things like that to me. "Sorry, just had to say it," he shrugs and gives me an apologetic smile. I know he's only being friendly. "Would you like me to go and get you a drink?" He asks in my ear again.

"If you don't mind?"

"Of course not, what do you want?"

"I'm not sure."

"I'll sort something out," he gets off the chair and walks over to the bar, just as Molly is returning with her drinks for Marlene.

"Want to taste it?" Marlene asks, forcing me to turn back around from where I was staring at Four. She pours out her bottle into a glass and hands it to me. I take it from her, cautiously sipping the slightly fizzy liquid. It tastes bitter and burns my throat, I recoil. I must pull a face because her and Molly laugh at me. "It's cider," she says.

"It's horrible!" I reply, hoping that Four decides to get me something less alcoholic tasting than that. My mouth feels dry and horrible. He arrives back soon enough, holding a beer in one hand and a fancy looking cocktail in the other. I shift up and he sits next to me on the leather armchair again, putting down his beer and handing me the cocktail.

"It's cucumber. Try it," he holds it out and I take the glass from him. I take a sip, and I'm surprised to find that I actually really like it. It's sweet and fresh at the same time, and I can't really taste any alcohol in it. I smile and nod my head, taking another sip. "It's got gin in it, so drink it slowly." He tells me, while taking a swig of his beer. I can see why he warned me to drink it slowly, I'm pretty sure I could down five of these because it tastes so good. I've never liked the taste of alcohol before now. We continue to all talk to each other over the loud music, mainly the boys shouting and laughing, clearly starting to feel buzzed over all the drinks. Christina engages in conversation between Marlene, Molly and I. She actually seems pretty nice. I lean forward on the edge of the chair while talking to them, and at the same time Four is shouting and laughing next to me, illustrating his points with his hands. I think they're taking about football. The whole time I'm conscious about how short my dress is, and how my bare skin is pressed against the material of his jeans. A few times he puts his hand lightly on my back while still talking to the others, and it doesn't go unnoticed when it trails further down, resting on my lower back. I shift uncomfortably on my seat, finding it hard to ignore him. He presses his hand firmer against my back and shakes me a little, only then do I realise he was just trying to catch my attention. I turn around to him.

"Want another one?" He gestures to the empty cocktail in my hand. It was my third one, we've been sat here for a couple of hours.

"Yeah sure," I begin to reach into my purse intending on giving him some money. All these cocktails must be pretty expensive. He puts his hand over mine to stop me. But then he's just holding my hand.

"I'll pay," he sports a wide closed-mouth smile and squeezes my hand before getting up and going to the bar. A funny feeling starts to grow in my stomach. When he returns with the drinks and sits back down, pressing up against my legs, the funny feeling in my stomach gets warmer and grows further down. I feel almost on edge, and find myself clenching my legs together a little. I'm also feeling much more confident due to the numerous cocktails. I take a gulp of my drink and subconsciously pull my dress down a little. He places a hand on my leg. He still talks to the boys, and I still talk to the three girls. But then his hand starts to slide further, very slowly, his fingers brushing the insides of my thigh. Not just my heart, but my whole body starts to drum a little. A sensation I've never felt before. I shift in my seat, clearing my throat quietly. He rubs circles with his thumb on my thigh. In my peripheral vision, I can see that his full attention still remains on the conversation that he's having with the boys.

"I don't feel well," Marlene starts to whine. She's pulling a sulky face and Molly takes the drink off her, putting it down on the table. Marlene sits back on the couch and he head sways a little.

"I think she might be sick," I say and Molly agrees.

"Let's get her to the bathroom," she says. I get up from the chair, letting Four's hand fall away. I'm almost relieved to be pulled away from the thoughts and feelings I was having. Only when I stand up do I realise I must be getting drunk too, because I stumble. Four steadies me with a hand on my hip, dangerously close to my behind.

"Careful," he laughs, "where are you going?"

"I'm just going to the bathroom with Marlene, she looks sick." He lets go of me as I pull Marlene up from the couch, while Molly supports her from the other end. She's wasted. We all stagger to the ladies' room, and as soon as we get there Marlene falls over into a stall and throws up into the bowl. "You okay, Mar?" I rub her back as she gets rid of all the alcohol and food she's been munching on.

"I probably shouldn't have bought her all that cider," says Molly. "Will her parents kill her?"

"She's supposed to be staying at my house tonight," I speak over Marlene's gagging noises.

"Okay well... don't want to ruin your night. I'll just call us a cab and she can crash at my apartment tonight. I've got to be at work in the morning anyway." She gets out her phone. "What's your number? I can text you my address incase you need to get her tomorrow or call her a cab." I get out my phone and we exchange numbers. This night was supposed to be celebrating Marlene's departure for college, but now she can't even enjoy it. Once Marlene has stopped being sick, we get her cleaned up and Molly calls a cab, taking them back to her place.

"Feel better soon Marlene!" I slur a little, and watch them head out the door. For some reason, it takes me a while to find our seats again, and Four isn't here. Where did he go? Is he hiding from me? I sit on the big couch next to Christina and Shauna, a puzzled expression on my face. "Where are the boys?" I ask, as they look at me knowingly and somewhat expectantly.

"They're playing a game of pool, all though they're all pretty drunk and aren't even hitting the balls properly. Four still seems to be doing a good job though."

"I'm sure he always does a good job," I quip and instantly cover my mouth. Shauna and Christina stare at me in shock, eyebrows raised, before bursting out laughing at the innuendo I just made. What's came over me? I laugh too, feeling incredibly giddy.

"Never knew you had a bit of a dirty mind Tris," Christina wipes tears from her eyes. Shauna smiles at me for what I presume to be the first time ever.

"Well, you don't know me, do you?"

"Yeah, about that…" Shauna says, looking at me apologetically. "I'm sorry for being a bitch. I…I have no reason for it. I guess I was kind of jealous of you and Four. I mean, not in that way," she touches my shoulder. "Just that I've been friends with him for years and I've tried getting him to open up to me and he never has. He's never even looked at anyone the way he looks at you."

"I understand," life's too short to hold grudges, after all. I think it's funny how girls all get along better when they've had a drink or two.

"I'm thankful for that," she smiles sincerely. "I really am."

"Well now that's solved, let's get back to the party," I reply, downing the rest of my drink. I don't know how many I've had now, but I suspect it's quite a few. I'll admit, I do feel pretty buzzed. Actually, I feel kind of _sloshed_. Is that even a word? By the looks of Four, he's pretty drunk too. Although he doesn't look like that afternoon I found him nearly passed out. He's laughing with his friends and having a good time. I have to admit, this seventies music night it pretty good. We continue to sit here comfortably, but then a different and very familiar song comes on, and Christina squeals making Shauna laugh and my ears ring.

"Oh my God I remember my parents listening to this all the time when I was a kid!" She shouts. "Come on, we've got to get up and dance." She grabs onto me and Shauna, pulling us both off the couch. She drags us to the middle of the small dance floor and begins to sway her hips, while still holding onto mine and Shauna's hand. I attempt to copy their moves, which are a little suggestive. However I'm feeling confident and pretty damn sexy in this dress. Tris in the morning is going to kill me for this. But I like being drunk Tris, it's fun. This song reminds me of my dad, it makes me feel happy and carefree. And I can't believe I'm holding hands with Shauna and Christina. I could choose to be mad at Shauna for the way that she acted with me, but I don't want to become a bitter person. It's either that, or I just like the fact that she's Lynn's sister, a little piece of her that I have left. I continue to dance, swaying my hips and arms with the music, and then I glance up to see Four examining me, a grin on his face. When we meet eye contact, we smile fondly at each other. He puts down his cue and walks over to me. He walks over to me like a predator to its prey. I get that funny feeling again when he gets nearer and nearer. By now I've stopped dancing, I just stand there, frozen. My hands still linked and being moved around by Shauna and Christina. He finally reaches us, standing about six inches away from me, staring down into my eyes. He smirks when I gulp, and beings to pry my hands from Christina and Shauna's firm grip. Christina objects, frowning and pulling my hand back again.

"It's my turn now," Four says to her, his voice a lot brighter and giddier than usual. "You can't have her to yourself all night." I laugh with him, and he pulls me to the other end of the dance floor, pressing my body against his, his hand firmly splayed across the middle of my back. Goosebumps spread outwards across my body, starting on my back and working their way down my arms. A jolt of electricity sparks in my chest, and I gulp for air when he leans close to me, his face inches from mine. He sways us to the music and has a small smile on his face. I dread to think what I look like right now. Then, he starts to sing along, in his deep voice that's surprisingly tuneful. My shoulders shake with laughter and my cheeks hurt from smiling so much. He carries on singing, but then he leans in close to me, so close that my breath hitches and all I can smell is him. He places his lips so close to my ear that they touch my skin when they move. My body is pressed against his body so much so I can not only hear the deep rumble of his quiet and seductive singing voice, but I can feel it too. Against my chest. I burn like I'm on fire. He continues to sing quietly in my ear before pausing to drag his soft lips lightly across the side of my face, then along my cheek, until his lips mould gently with mine. His lips brush against mine when he finishes the last work of the song, and my body shivers. He pulls back and gives me a shy smile. My legs feel like they're going to crumble beneath me. What are we doing? I'm too far gone to care. He releases my hands and drags his palms up the skin of my arms, over my shoulders and up the sides of my neck, leaving a burning trail in their wake. They cup my face. He doesn't give it a second thought before crashing his lips to mine, desperately and hungrily, but still careful. I can taste the alcohol on his breath, as I'm sure he can taste it on mine. His tongue moves along my bottom lip before sliding past them. I have only ever kissed sloppy teenage boys before, so this is incredible. I don't really know what I'm doing, I just copy everything that he does, letting him dominate the kiss. Our noses pressed against each other, our arms embraced and wanting, our mouths becoming one. I can only imagine how good it would be if he wasn't drunk at all. _But this wouldn't be happening if we weren't drunk,_ the little annoying voice inside my head tells me. He has an experienced touch, and seems to know exactly what to do. I fight the thought that's going through my mind, questioning how many women he's done this with. Right now it doesn't matter. I sling my arms around his neck, reaching up on my tiptoes to deepen the kiss. However, that makes my tiny dress ride up, and he must realise because he pulls on the bottom of the hem, covering my behind with his hands.

"Do you want to get out of here?" His voice is huskier than usual, and his navy blue eyes are dilated so much they almost look black.

"Let's go to your place," I can feel the alcohol pumping throughout my veins, planning my actions for me.

"Are you sure?" He asks me. I know what he probably wants. But I also know what I want. And it's something I've never wanted before. I trust Four. I _know_ Four. He squeezes my ass slightly when I don't answer him. I swallow thickly, that was enough for me to make up my mind.

"Yeah, come on." I tug on his hand. Before we walk out, he whistles over to Zeke and Will, waving a hand at them. They wave back, looking unsurprised that we're leaving together. I go to smile at Christina and Shauna but they're caught up in their own little world, still dancing together. We saunter out of the club, neither of sporting a jacket, but thankfully it isn't too cold outside.

"Do you want me to call a cab or shall we just walk?" He asks me, my hand still in his.

"Let's just walk, it's only about ten minutes, right?" Plus, we'll be safe with him here. I'm _safe_ with him.

"Come on then," he pulls me to the side walk and we begin our journey back to his house. Well, _attempting_ to do so. I think we're gently swaying side to side, me more so than him. I keep nearly tripping up on everything and I can't feel my feet. Four eventually stops and crouches down in front of me, lowering his back and holding out his arms. "Get on," he says to me, while laughing at how ridiculous I'm being. I'm clamber onto his strong back, loosely wrapping my arms around his neck. He hooks his arms under my thighs and he begins to walk. I can feel his muscles contracting and expanding beneath me. I'm also pretty certain my whole ass is on display to the neighbourhood right now, the end of my dress has slid upwards around my waist. I don't care. We're still stumbling, singing random songs at the top of our lungs. My singing voice is dreadful, and I can't manage to get a full line out without laughing hysterically. Four seems to find this hilarious, finishing the lines that I don't complete. When we get to his road, I unwrap my arms from around his neck and start to move my hands along his shoulders and back, feeling the definition of his muscles. I press a little firmer, rubbing up and down. He stops humming, and goes silent, turning his head to the side. He then starts to quicken up his pace, obviously now feeling desperate to get us back. I already know that Marcus and Sarah aren't at home this weekend because Four told me they went to Washington on business.

We arrive at his house, loose limbed and _drunk. _I slide down off him, and it takes him a while to successfully unlock the door, especially since I'm distracting him by pressing myself against his back and running my hands up his arms. "Fuck," he hisses when he nearly falls through the door due to pushing it open so hard. I laugh, clasping my hand to my mouth as he pulls me into the house behind him. He slams the door shut, and I'm pretty sure he forgot to take the key out of the lock. He turns around, first of all linking his fingers with mine so securely before he pushes me backwards and my spine is pressed against the wall above the heat of the radiator. The heat presses against my behind just right, sending tingles down my legs and causing my lips to seek out Four's. He attempts to tease me, but we're too intoxicated and impatient for that to work. So instead we kiss messily and urgently, our breaths mixed and rushed between us. First his hands let go of mine and clamp around my waist, then they drag down firmly, going across my behind until he reaches the back of my thighs, lifting me up in the process. My legs lock around his waist, pulling him even closer to me so that we're pressed against each other where we want it most. I'm fuelled by the alcohol, doing things I would never normally do. I unbutton his shirt, which proves to be a challenge because even my vision seems to be off. I kiss the newly uncovered skin after each button is unhooked, but then he can't take it anymore, ripping his shirt apart and clumsily desperately dragging it down his arms and flinging it across the hallway. I giggle at him and bite my lip, taking in his appearance. His eyes look sated and his hair is tousled from where my hands messed it up. While still keeping eye contact, I shakily run my hand down the planes of his chest, going lower and lower until I brush against the dark trail of hair on his abdomen. He releases a shaky breath, and readjusts me slightly so that I'm a little higher. I know why. I can feel him. My heart seems to be beating against my ribcage incessantly, as if it's trying to break free. My skin is as warm as I feel on the inside, the only thoughts in my head being — _we're friends, what are we doing?_ — and— _I want him. I need him. _The confusion of the moment is almost too much to process, my body only taking care of its primal instinct. His kisses become tender, nipping the skin under my jaw as he moves my hair out of his way. Sometime in the moment, the straps of my dress had fallen down, and I become conscious of the fact that I'm not wearing a bra. He must be aware of the fact, considering I'm straining against his now bare chest. When I move my hand to push one of the straps up, his face nudges me away, continuing to kiss and lick the bare soft skin across my collarbone, over the three raven tattoos that Lynn drew. His breath and tongue and moisture and lips are heated with passion. Heated with the need and the desire that we all of a sudden have for each other. Has it always been there? This want. This need. I don't know. But I like it.

"Upstairs," I whisper against his ear, one hand clutching the side of his head, my fingers buried in his hair, and my other hand gripping his arm. He nods slightly, pulling me away from the wall and heading towards the stairs. He grips onto the bannister, with one hand still underneath me.

"Shit," he stumbles on the steps, causing my back to hit them and him to nearly fall down. I laugh, pulling him up to me again. "Sorry," he slurs, kissing my forehead wetly. I wrap my arms around his neck again and he continues to grip onto the bannister for dear life, pulling on it to drag us upwards. When we get to his bedroom, I reach my hand behind me to press on the handle as he kicks the door open with his foot. He slams it shut behind us, so loud I think it could possibly be blown off its hinges. He scrambles around while I distract him with my mouth, until his hand finally makes contact with the lock on the door and he turns it promptly. He carries me over to his work desk, shoving his laptop and papers aside to make room for me and place me down on the solid cold wooden top. I lift my hips as he pushes the silky material of my dress upwards, and my palms sweat as I clutch onto him for dear life, my head resting on his shoulder. The room spins as his deft fingers hook into the sides of my lace underwear. I look over him to the other end of the room, where the bright green numbers on the digital clock sat on his bedside table strike midnight. The day may have just ended, but our night has only just begun.

* * *

**Thank you for all the favourites, follows and reviews that I got for the last chapter. I appreciate it so much :)**

**Also, I am in no way trying to glamourise the use of drugs or alcohol in this story. Please be responsible. **


	17. Walk of Shame

**A/N- I do not own Divergent, rights go to Veronica Roth. **

**IMPORTANT PLEASE READ: In this chapter, there are going to be a few flashbacks (from when they went back to Four's house at the end of the last chapter) and these will all be written in _italics. _**

* * *

September 14th

I wake to a rancid taste in my mouth. My eyes feel like they're glued shut, and I the warmness of the morning sun beats down on my sticky skin through the window. I prize my eyes open with difficulty, squinting at how badly the blinding light burns my them and makes my head throb. I open and close my mouth a few times, nearly gagging at the horrible aftertaste of last night's alcohol. I glance at my surroundings; this isn't my room. Everything is dizzy and foggy, I still feel a little drunk. However, I recognise the grey curtains and white walls all too well. I'm in Four's room. In his bed. I move my leg and it touches the floor, I'm laying on the edge of the mattress, surprised that I have somehow managed to not fall off since I'm half hanging out. I lift my head to look at the bedside table next to me, where the clock says it's seven in the morning. Sat next to the clock is a torn condom wrapper, making the foggy memories of last nights antics all too real, and almost acting as clarification. I attempt to roll over, but feel a strong arm tighten around my bare stomach. Four. I blink my eyes a few times in order to focus, my cheeks feeling hot. I lift up the sheet that's half haphazardly draped across me, and carefully remove his hand from where it's tucked under me, freeing myself from his iron-clad grip. I take the opportunity to turn around, and come face to face with him. His eyes are shut tight and his head rests on the same pillow as mine, his body sprawled across most of the bed. Shuffling back a little, I try to get out but end up falling and slamming onto the hardwood floor. My legs are unsteady and every inch of my body is sore. I peak my head back up to see if I woke him, but thankfully, I didn't. He does wriggle around a little though, turning to lie on his back and heaving a deep sigh. I delicately cover him back up with the messy sheets, desperately trying not to disturb him. I grab onto the edge of the bed frame in order to try and stand up successfully. However once I'm upright, the nausea hits me. I grab onto my mouth and stomach, stopping myself from throwing up. I tiptoe around his room and catch sight of myself in the full length mirror, realising that I am oh so very... naked. So I begin to frantically look around, trying to locate my clothes. My sandals are sprawled across the middle of the floor, so I quickly slip them on and buckle them up. Then I see my black dress, crumbled up next to the bed. When I pick it up and slide it on, I almost die inside. The zipper is completely bust, I mustn't have even bothered to unzip it when I took it off, effectively tearing down the side of the dress. There are random stains all over it and it looks terrifying. The filthy dress is useless. To make matters considerably worse, I wasn't even wearing a bra underneath it (thanks to Marlene) and I have no hope in hell of finding my underwear. Devastation overcomes me and I begin to panic, looking around the room frantically for something to cover myself up with. One of Four's t-shirts is slung across the back of his desk chair, so I grab it and slip it on. Thankfully, it covers the ripped dress and reaches mid-thigh length, gratefully preserving my modesty. I find myself clenching my legs together with the un-ignorable sensation to pee, but I can't use his bathroom without waking him up. Carefully creeping out of his bedroom, I shut his door softly behind me and make my way over to the family bathroom. But I stop dead in my tracks when I walk past Marcus and Sarah's open bedroom door, only to see them lying in bed sound asleep. I internally scream, and tell myself to retreat. Retreat, retreat, retreat! Down the stairs I go, feeling like I'm in a terribly real comedy sketch. The two must have gotten a midnight flight and returned home in the early hours, for whatever ungodly reason. Once I'm finally downstairs, I expect to be relieved, however the sight that greets me spoils any chance of that happening. I inwardly cringe when I see my purse neatly placed on the side table, alongside Four's neatly folded up shirt. I know for a fact that we didn't leave these particular items like that. I even seem to recall them strewn across the floor down the hallway. That must mean that either Marcus or Sarah picked them up, obviously knowing that Four had brought a girl home. Could this whole thing get any worse? When I go to open the front door, I realise the answer is yes. Yes it can. The door is locked, and I don't have the key. At this point, I'm almost close to tears. I start searching for a set of keys, trying to be quiet but quick at the same time. I look inside the little jars and drawers and cupboards, what kind of people don't dump their keys by the front door? Tidy people. How inconvenient for me. I creep into the living room, staring at the large windows. I decide if I want to get out of here, it's this or nothing. The key is placed on the windowsill, so I unlock the largest window and open it. I manage to clumsily climb out, hopefully not flashing any of the neighbours. This is the first time that I'm thankful for being so small. My feet are now standing in the prickly plants as I lean in and put the key back on the windowsill, closing the window shut behind me. I'm finally free. Now that the initial escape part is over, I have to engage in the walk of shame. A bra-less, panty-less, guy's t-shirt wearing walk of shame. Fabulous. I stomp jelly-legged down the sidewalk on the way to my own house, sweat collecting on my brow, my hand shielding my eyes from the morning light. I pray that no one sees me. Because how on earth would I explain this one? Since it's a Sunday, most people are still in bed, so no one is around to witness my messy hair and sweaty sickly skin. I look like I just crawled out of a hole. Soon enough, I feel a burning sensation in my chest and my stomach flips. I throw up in the rose bush of someone's front yard, retching up the food that I don't even remember eating. It's official, I'm a zombie mess. I need to pee so badly, and it takes the will of wanting to preserve my last shred of dignity to stop myself from squatting behind a bush right now to relieve myself. It hurts to walk, and I've never been more thankful to see the chipped paint of my front porch. When I walk up the steps, I almost kiss the floor. I fiddle with the lock for a while before stumbling through my house, racing up the stairs on all fours in order to get to the bathroom.

"Beatrice? Is that you?" _Please God, no!_ My mother's tuneful voice rings out and I slam the bathroom door shut before she gets a chance to see me. I tug on my hair out of pure humiliation and shame.

"Yeah mom, I'm just getting in the shower!" I shout through the door, my voice raspy and contorted. Why did she choose to stay in, last night of all nights?

"Where have you been?" I can sense her pressed up against the other side of the door, a confused expression plastered across her face probably. Now is the time to lie, and I need to make it good.

"Well, I stayed over at my friends house last night with Marlene because she wasn't feeling good," I say.

"Why are you home so early?"

"I think I have what she has because I don't feel so good either, I came home incase I was sick." There's a long pause before I finally get a response.

"Have you been drinking?"

"No, no!" I reply a little too quickly. "Of course not! I'm underage so I'd never get served. We've both just got like, the stomach flu or something."

"Alright. Well, I'm going back to bed. I have a shift at the hospital in a few hours, but I'll be back for dinner."

"Okay, see you later." I reply, heaving a sigh to relieve the tension. When I hear her walk away from the door, I turn the shower on. I peel what's left of my sweaty clothes off my body, and step into the steamy water. I scrub off all the grime with my wash cloth, noticing all the little marks and bruises on my body. Evidence of last night's antics. I step out and wrap a towel around me, grabbing my shoes and clothes before heading into my bedroom and shutting the door behind me. I stuff the clothes in my hamper and after drying my hair and putting my pyjamas on, I slide into the comfort of my own bed to catch a few more hours shut-eye.

Later, I woke to a text from Marlene, apologising for the state she got herself in last night, and to inform me that she's leaving for LA this afternoon. I reluctantly left the comfort of my bed, quickly throwing on some clothes on and making my way down to her house, which so happens to be crowded with family members helping to lift and pack various boxes. I was planning on only popping round to see her for a few minutes to say goodbye, but I really need to get what happened last night off my chest, and there's no one else I can really talk to other than Marlene. I walk up her long driveway, stepping out of people's way, my hands shoved in my pockets timidly. I see Marlene standing outside her front door, clipboard in hand, seemingly ordering people around. "Hey," I walk up to her, lightly slinging my arm around her shoulders in a half-hug.

"Hey Tris," she sighs. "I'm sorry it's manic around here," she gestures to her parents wrapping up large items, people stressing and rushing around.

"I can see that. I never knew a college student had so much stuff," I look at her questioningly. "I thought you just packed a suitcase of your clothes and took your laptop."

"Oh, I know, but I'm moving into a small house so I decided I may as well take everything with me," she pushes her hair back from her face in a frustrated manner. "I still have more stuff to get once we get there, like kitchen-ware and a bit more furniture."

"That's exciting," I smile. "So why a house? Don't you want to be on campus?"

"Eh," she starts looking at a list on her clipboard, checking off what I presume to be certain boxes. "I'm not really going for the college life, you know? My course is going to be rock solid and I'd rather not have the distraction of partying. And my parents own a few properties that they let out, one of them conveniently being in LA, so I'm going to live there."

"That's understandable, and also very lucky. You look like shit by the way."

"So do you," she giggles. "What happened last night? I take it you got home okay, I mean, I'm so sorry I got in such a state and left you, it was totally-"

"Marlene, it's okay, it's okay," I laugh to myself, biting my lip and start to feel my skin warming up.

"What's gotten into you?" She puts down the small box that she was holding and places her hands on her hip instead, offering me a sly smile and a raised eyebrow.

"I need to tell you something," I scratch the back of my neck. "I mean, I don't know if I should but… I just really need to tell someone. I need to get it off my chest."

"Okay, okay," she touches my shoulder lightly and releases a breathy laugh, looking considerably confused. "What the hell is going on?"

"Not here," I look around me awkwardly. She nods her head and drags me into her large house down the hallway, she pulls us into the small guest bathroom and locks the door behind us.

"There," she whispers, a excited grin on her face. "Now tell me before I combust!"

"I-had-sex-with-Four," I rush out almost inaudibly, my face scrunched up in anticipation of her response.

"You what?" She exclaims, her eyes wide and shocked, the corner of her lip twitching upwards.

_He lays me down firmly on the bed, resting between my legs as we continue to kiss. He holds onto my ankles and pushes them up so that my knees are bent either side of him. We're close, but then he breaks away to unbuckle the straps on my sandals. He begins to gently kiss my ankles, whilst pulling them off and tossing them onto the floor. He sucks on the sensitive skin on the sides of my calves, before working his way up to my inner thighs, slowly but surely. He nips licks and brushes his lips against the flesh on my legs, his fingers gripping me firmly to stake his claim. I can't help a moan from escaping my mouth at the feel of his mouth, my body writhing beneath him as he snakes an arm across my hips to hold me down. Suddenly the thin material of the dress is too constricting and adds an unwanted layer between us. So I sit up, clumsily lifting it up off my body in such a desperate manner that I think I hear a little tear. I throw it onto the floor and fall back onto the bed, my hands fisting into the sheets and pulling on his thick brown hair. He looks up at me with a devilish grin, his eyes skimming over my body. I lay bare before him for the first time, my skin heated and clammy, my mind racing and incoherent. When he pulls away to unbuckle his jeans, I realise how bare I actually am, and how I'd rather be at least partially covered. _

_"__Can we, um," I fiddle with the edge of the sheet, implying that I want to go underneath it. _

_"__Yeah," he croaks, clearing his throat and pulling the sheet from under my body to cover us with it. I lean forward when he goes to kiss me again, this time trying to pull his jeans down. However, my clumsily weak hands can't do. "I'll get it," he laughs breathily and makes quick work of removing them, throwing them onto the floor like everything else. He kneels back down on the mattress and reaches over to his bedside table, retrieving a foil packet. _

"You heard me," I say clearly this time, swallowing thickly and trying to snap myself out of my reverie. "I slept with Four. Last night," I look down at the floor, bracing myself for either the laughter or the shouting.

"Wait, are you actually serious?"

"Yes," I sigh, exasperated. "I'm being serious, Mar."

"Alright, I'm sorry. It's just, I mean we all joked about you two…but I didn't actually believe it."

"But it happened. It really did happen."

"Oh my gosh," she laughs again, a little too shocked for words. "How? I mean, did you just go home together?"

"Yeah I guess, we kissed on the dance floor and he asked me if I wanted to go back to his place so I said yes…at least I think that's how it happened."

"You think?"

"Well I was pretty drunk, I don't remember all of it clearly."

"I'm sure it will all come back to you. But why do you look so bummed?" She frowns, leaning back against the wall. So I sit on the closed toilet, my head in my hands.

"He's my best friend besides Lynn. Who we all know isn't around right now," I huff. "He was my best friend, and I went and had drunken awkward sex with him and probably ruined everything."

"It was awkward?"

"Well…" I trail off. She raises an eyebrow at me, waiting for me to continue. "Only because I hadn't done it before."

_He leans over me, one of his forearms bearing most of his weight. He kisses my neck and jaw, while his other hand reaches down between us. I try to concentrate on the feel of him. The closeness of his body, his scent and heat radiating off him in a way that's both comforting and consuming. But let's just say, he's quite gifted in_ that _department, so it takes us a while to get…situated. The fact that this is my first time going all the way doesn't help matters, because I'm anxious and stiff and awkward. I haven't told him that this is the case, but I'm presuming that by now he's probably figured out as much, especially when I wince. Even in his drunk state, he's not that stupid. My heart races and my head pounds, sweat collecting on both of us. He continues to shift us around, and in my drunken stupor, I __become irritated, slapping his arm and commanding for him to stay as we are and go slowly. _

"You were a virgin?" She says a little too loudly.

"Shh! People will hear you!" I look at the closed door frantically.

"Ha, you're totally thinking about it right now aren't you?" She pokes my cheek, which I'm almost positive has turned the shade of tomato red.

"Shut up, it's kind of hard not to," I mutter.

"Sorry, but jeez. You lost your virginity to Four. Four your best friend. That is hilarious." But he's not called Four, I think to myself. Last night, he told me one more secret about himself. One that I was definitely not expecting. One that added to the increased amount of mystery surrounding his character.

_Things start to relax between us, our breathes becoming ragged and the creak of the mattress becoming more evident. His hand is large and warm on my chest, his lips hot and wet. "Four," I sigh, running my hands over his back. _

_"__Say Tobias," his voice sounds deeper and more tense than usual. _

_"__Wait, what?" I pull back and frown at him, what the hell is he talking about?_

_"__That's…my name…Tobias," he pants. I'm not really in the right frame of mind to process the fact that 'Four', the name that I've called him ever since I met him, is apparently not even his real name. _

_"__Okay, Tobias," I smile and run my hands through his hair, he smiles too, against my damp skin. He places wet kisses across my chest and keeps a firm grip on my waist. He's obviously pleased that I'm no longer calling him 'Four', but I keep thinking about how bizarre this situation is. I don't even remember how we got going like this, and now he's telling me he has a different name. For a moment, I let myself get carried away, thinking that I'm being intimate with a mysterious and attractive man named Tobias, not the Four that I'm acquainted with. _

"Hey," Marlene starts clicking her fingers in front of my face. "Will you stop spacing out on me."

"This isn't hilarious," I say, slapping her hand away. "This is going to ruin everything. Everything that we have."

"Don't worry Tris, it's cool. You know, I slept with Uriah once and we're still friends."

"Huh? Uriah? Seriously?"

"Yeah, it was a couple of years ago, but that's irrelevant," she shakes her head and shrugs me off. "Anyway, was it good?"

"I-I don't know."

"Don't you remember?"

"Well, I kind of ruined the moment," I smile sheepishly.

"How?"

"I laughed."

"You laughed?" If she wasn't shocked before, then she surely is now. I don't blame her.

_It's good, but my mind regrettably begins to wander. I begin to dread the morning, and whether or not we will wish we hadn't have done this. Similar to how you regret drinking so much because of the massive hangover. It was good at the time, but the consequences are often too much to justify the five minutes of fun you had. _

_"__You alright Tris?" he asks me. His voice sounds normal, like it always has done, and it helps anchor me back to reality. He sounds like the same Four my mother introduced me to. The one who picked me up from jail and offered me a caring smile. The one who told me his secrets and helped me when I had to face my own. This is Four. This is my friend. I keep trying to fight the cloud of drunkenness, I need to see sense. But I can't. _

_"__Yeah," I bite lip and let him carry on. This is what I want, isn't it? For whatever reason, a giggle starts to grow in my throat, and I can't keep it in anymore. I laugh. I laugh out loud against his shoulder, until he pulls back and stops what he's doing to look at me. He furrows his brows for a moment before eventually joining in, a grin spreading across his face as he shakes his head almost in disbelief, and drops it so his forehead is pressed against my chest. His shoulders shake with quiet laughter, but soon enough we become near hysterical. "What are we doing?" I say, my voice sounding intoxicated and amused. _

_"__I don't know," he rolls off me and covers his face with his hands, grumbling something unintelligible. "We've had too much to drink."_

"Tris," Marlene sighs. "You're doing it again."

"Sorry, sorry. I uh, I may have…let out a slight giggle. Yes. I laughed," I purse my lips. "But he laughed too!"

"I can't believe you actually laughed," she walks over and sits in front of me on the floor. "This is unbelievable."

"It was just the intensity of the situation, and the fact that I was out of my mind. It was weird because, well, he's Four. I guess we both weren't ready for that, we just got a little ahead of ourselves."

"So did he get to finish?"

"Um.."

"Really? You just stopped?"

"I, I can't even remember properly. We both realised what we were doing wasn't what we wanted so yeah, we just stopped. Well, at least I think that's what happened. But anyway, that's the least of my problems."

"You don't have problems Tris," she shakes my knee. "Just forget about it. We're young, it's what we do. Mess around and make mistakes."

"But I didn't want to make any mistakes with him. He's…he's important."

"So you like him?"

"I didn't say that."

"It's cool. If you like him, tell him. If you don't, just forget about it. What did he say in the morning?"

"I ran out before he woke up."

"You humped and dumped?" She smirks.

"Well when you say it like that it sounds bad."

"Whatever," she stands up, stretching her back out. "Anyway, college awaits me, and Four awaits you. So we best get out of this tiny bathroom. Just talk to him, alright? Everything will work out for the best."

And talk to him is exactly what I'm going to have to do. Especially now that I'm sat at home, at my kitchen table, and my phone is lit up with his name on the screen. I watch it vibrate for a moment before finally growing the nerves to answer it. There's a nervous lump in my throat and electricity coursing through my veins. My stomach feels like a cage of rabid butterflies, the mortification of actually having to hear his voice is surprisingly painful. "Hello?" I answer, my hands trembling slightly as I hold the phone to my ear, my voice sounding croaky and terse. I pinch the bridge of my nose to try and relieve the pressure. It doesn't work.

"You know, I'm going to have to start walking around topless if you keep taking my shirts," Four replies. A sigh of pure relief escapes my mouth when I hear that he's being normal. Even though I dreaded the sound of his voice less than a minute ago, it's enough to cure my anxieties. I bite the inside of my cheek and smile to myself a little. I wasn't afraid of him. I was afraid of hurting him, of him being mad at me.

"I'm sure all the girls would love that," I remark, getting him to chuckle. However it wears off quickly and the line goes dead for a minute. "My dress was ripped so it was either that or walk home naked," I explain to him.

"I'm sure all the boys would have loved that." I also try to laugh, but it comes out more like a strangled cat noise. I slap a hand to my forehead, frustrated with myself. "You should have just woken me up and I would have taken you home," he says.

"No it's fine. I uh, had to be somewhere. Didn't want to wake you." I know he knows I'm lying. But there isn't really much else that I can say to him to make this any better.

"Yeah, about last night…" he begins with those specific three words that I was dreading, but I cut him off before he gets a chance to continue with the dreaded topic.

"There's nothing to say."

"Tris, I-"

"I suppose that's not the first time that you've had a one night stand, is it?" I chew on my lip when it takes him a while to respond.

"No, it's not. But I didn't want it to be like that with you."

"What does that mean?"

"Hmm?"

"What _did_ you want it to be like?" The line stays silent. "Four?" After another moment of silence, he begins to stammer, trying to get his words out but obviously unsure of the point he's trying to make. I puff out air frustratedly, wishing thinks weren't so tense. "We were drunk," I say. "It's okay, we'll just forget about it. I don't want it to ruin what we have…whatever that is."

"What if I don't want to forget about it," he mutters quietly.

"Then don't, but, let's face it, we both had no idea what we were doing and got seriously caught up in the moment." I have to admit, I'm not quite sure if I want to forget it either. Scratch that, I know I _definitely_ won't be forgetting it. But I can't risk it damaging us or rushing into anything because of it.

"I still feel guilty," he sighs.

"Don't, we're both as bad as each other."

"I didn't hurt you did I?"

"Four, I'm fine. Seriously, I think we should just move on. But, Marcus and Sarah were home when I got up, they were still asleep though, I don't think I woke them."

"I know, they got an earlier flight because the weather was bad."

"Did they get annoyed at you?"

"Something like that."

"I guess it wasn't the best plan then, overall."

"No, but I'd be lying if I said I regretted it," I can almost hear the smirk shining through in his voice. Just as I'm about to respond with some sarcastic remark, I hear the front door open, and my mom's footsteps patter on the hardwood floor as she walks through the house to dump her bag and coat in the closet.

"My mom's home," I whisper.

"Okay, when can I see you?"

"Tomorrow? I'm working a full day though."

"So am I, I'll probably see you after."

"Alright then," I murmur just as my mom walks in giving me a curious smile. She's known for her eavesdropping skills and I won't allow her to put them to good use.

"Take care," he says.

"You too." He hangs up as I pull my phone away from my ear, switching the screen off so that my mom can't see his name lit up. She begins to busy herself in the kitchen, pulling out various foods to make dinner.

"I'm going to make a soup," she says, "since you don't feel well." She drops the bag of vegetables and walks over to me, placing the back of her hand on my cheek and her palm against my forehead. "Although you seemed to have made a miraculous recovery."

"I still feel a little off," I lie. My hangover has worn off since this morning, I may still feel tired but I'm no longer nauseous.

"Who were you just talking to?"

"Marlene."

"Ah," she begins to chop the vegetables, her voice sounding incredibly disbelieving. She doesn't question me further, but she doesn't need to. I can see the accusatory look in her eyes as I help her with making the dinner. She wants me to tell her the truth, she knows I was lying. She knows I've been lying to her all day, I can tell. Even though she still continues to go along with the pretence of me having the stomach flu, she feeds me soup and painkillers and plenty of water. All cures for bad hangovers. We don't say much as we eat at the table, and I retire to bed early tonight, eager to escape all the drama and catch up on lost sleep. I fight the temptation to sleep in one of Four's many shirts that he's given to me, and decide it would be best to sleep in my own bed clothes tonight. That is, if I want to get any sleep at all. But when I'm lying in bed, my quilt tucked firmly around my body like a caterpillar in its cocoon, I find it too difficult to not think about him. The house is dead quiet, the faint noise of the shower head leaking drops of water echoing in the bathroom. I can't help but think about how last night, less than twenty-four hours ago, I fell asleep in a very different way. Still in similar silence, but with a certain someone wrapped around my bare skin. So I allow the delectable reminiscence to lull me to sleep:

_A short while later, we're laying on his bed, looking up at the ceiling. His arm is stretched out, resting under my neck, and I examine his face up-close for the first time. I still feel very buzzed, but a sense of normalcy is starting to make its way back to me…at least I think. "So, what's the deal with your name?" I slur slightly. _

_"__Four. It was just," he pauses for a moment, also finding it harder than usual to string his sentences together, "a name that I earned in college. I played football, and that was the number on my jersey. I never used to introduce myself to people because I still had my issues, I would just ignore them. So, they all started calling me Four." _

_"__Do you want me to call you Tobias?"_

_"__When we're alone, yeah," he yawns. _

_"__Oh, so is it just what you do when you sleep with girls? Tell them your real name? Almost like a party favour," I joke, but he looks at me seriously. _

_"__No," he frowns and shakes his head, "you're the first person I've told, who knows me by the name 'Four'." _

_"__Why?" I ask incredulously, wondering why he treated me differently. _

_"__I don't know. When you said 'Four', it just didn't seem right. Four is just a persona, an intimidating alter ego. But when I'm with you, I feel like 'Tobias'. You make me want to be the good guy. The real me." He looks at me earnestly, and I smile slightly in response, feeling my eyelids droop. He rolls over so that he's lying on his side, facing me, and pulls the sheet over us properly. He smoothes back my hair before placing a gentle kiss on my cheek, and intertwines his fingers with mine. I watch him as he closes his eyes, a small content smile growing on his face. He falls asleep quickly, as I continue to stare at him, listening to the deep lull of his breathing and marvelling at how different he looks as he sleeps. He looks weightless and calm, no signs of worry lines etched on his face or the torment and sadness that I know is buried in his blue eyes. I pray that this night doesn't complicate things, doesn't complicate what we have. I don't think the term 'just friends' applies to us anymore. I don't want it to. _

* * *

**Hope you liked that chapter! I decided to do something a little different with the flashbacks because it worked out better that way, rather than just carrying on from the last chapter in chronological order. **

**Thank you so much for all the reviews I got for the last chapter, it was the most I had ever gotten! I really appreciate it and glad you enjoyed it. I haven't had time to reply to each and every one of you since this one took me so long to write, but all of your words are wonderful!**

**Stay tuned. :)**


	18. Temper Tantrums

**A/N- I do not own the Divergent characters. **

**Thank you all for the favourites/follows and the reviews. I read them all and they make my day :)**

* * *

September 16th

Silence clings to the bakery like an unwanted fog. My groggy morning eyes make it difficult to piece together complete sense of my surroundings, and I feel tired in a way that makes the back of my neck and throat ache. I continue to rub the sleep out of my eyes and gulp some water in hopes of making my mouth feel fresher and hydrated. Even though it's the middle of September, the weather is clammy outside and not much better in the bakery. I become frustrated with my hair which begins to cling to the sides of my face with the humidity, so I tie it up in a pony tail and slip it through my baseball cap. I walk over to stand next to the refrigerator, hoping it will make me feel fresher and more alive. Goosebumps grow on my bare legs since I'm still wearing my usual work attire of shorts and a t-shirt. I'm sure in winter I will change to trousers and a long-sleeve top, but right now the bakery gets too hot with all the ovens. I crook my head to get a look at the clock, which has only recently struck nine, even though there are still no signs of customers. A tuesday isn't necessarily the busiest day, but that doesn't mean that it remains empty like this. I never usually have this much time to sit around. "Good morning, slacker," Kyle says cheerily, as he comes out of the back carrying a box.

"I'm not a slacker," I snap. "There's no one here."

"I know," he puts the box down on the floor and comes over to stand in front of me, as I lean against the counter. "It was like this when I pulled the morning shifts last week," he places his hand on the counter next to mine. "I've never known the place to be so empty." I shift back a little uncomfortably due to how close he's standing, but I'm already as far away as I can get.

"Why aren't people coming in anymore then?"

"Beats me. I mean, this is a great place. Quality food, decent price," he leans a little closer. Perhaps too close for comfort; I can feel his breath against my skin. It makes me shiver in an unnerving way, in a way that makes me feel like I have to hold my breath and count to ten. "and pretty waitresses," he smirks.

"Kyle," I mutter, frowning.

"What? Aren't I allowed to compliment you? I'd be surprised if half the boys that came here only wanted the cake. It doesn't hurt to be served by an attractive little blonde girl." Just as he edges even closer to me, forcing me to lean my head back, the bell above the front door rings out as a customer walks in. Four. He pauses at the door for a moment, his brows knitting together. I quietly clear my throat and dip my head to look at the floor. Kyle sighs deeply, before peeling his palms away from the counter in an annoyed manner, from where they were planted either side of me. I feel my blood boiling and my heart pumping throughout my veins, my head still trained on the floor as I listen to Kyle step away and Four walk up to the counter.

"Tris? Mind serving the customers this morning? I'm on cleaning duty," Kyle says in an un-welcomly authoritative voice. I pull away from the counter and look up to see Four. However the large purple and blue bruise spreading across his cheekbone to his left temple doesn't help my state of shock.

"The usual, with-" he walks up the the glass display cabinet and points out a large croissant. "One of these please," he says. His voice is monotone and unemotional, not giving anything away. He continues to look in the counter for a while, as I continue to stare at him. At the bruise on his face. "Tris? Croissant?" He furrows his brows even further, staring deep into my eyes for a moment before I finally snap out of my daze and rush over to get his order.

"Sorry," I mutter, putting the croissant into a box and working the coffee machine. I'm vaguely aware of Kyle hovering near me, watching everything that I do. You could cut the tension with something even more blunt than a butter knife. I pour the freshly made coffee into a cup, walking over to the other end of the bakery to place a lid on it and wrap it with a napkin and stirrer.

"He's still going to have to pay for that, you know," Kyle whispers in my ear. I turn around to give him a confused, angry glare before making my way back over to the till. Four stands behind it, pulling out his wallet and handing me the necessary cash.

"Thanks Tris," he says.

"No problem," I try to smile, but it turns out tense and weird. Four chews on his cheek a little, looking at Kyle and giving him a death glare. I hear him shuffle off and make his way into the back, intimidated by the much older male.

"Are you alright?" Four asks me, his voice deep and filled with concern.

"I-I'm fine," I look at the bruise again which coating part of his face. It shouldn't be him who is asking this question. But I know Four, he'll tell me whatever it is when he's ready too. I know better than to push him.

"Only if you're sure."

"I'm sure," I say. He nods and picks up his breakfast and coffee, after shoving his wallet back into his pocket.

"Want me to pick you up from work? Do you finish at three?"

"I guess, If you don't mind. I might finish a little earlier since there are barely any customers."

"That's fine. I'll text you when I'm outside." We bid our goodbyes, although he seems reluctant to leave. I take my cap off my head momentarily in order to drag my hand over my hair, as if I'm wiping away the tension and stress. I straighten out my cap again, wiping my palms on my mini black apron. I nearly jump out of my skin when the back door swings open again, Kyle springing through.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" I seethe. A mischievous grin grows on his face, much to my disliking.

"What on earth are you talking about?" He picks up a rag and begins to wipe down the counters, even though they're practically untouched. There's something unsettlingly casual about the action, his nonchalant temper growing on my nerves. I've never truly been a complete fan of Kyle, but he's never annoyed me this much until now. I fear that there's a terrible side to his character that I'm only beginning to uncover.

"You. When you said that Four has to pay. Of course he has to pay. Did you think that I was giving out free food or something?"

"I just meant that we don't give out coffees to our sexual conquests. Becky would probably fire you."

"W-what? What are you implying?"

"Does he like it rough?" He asks, far too casually.

"Like it rough?" I spit, completely bewildered.

"Yeah, that was some shiner on his face," he points to his cheek bone. "I get it, some people are into that kind of thing."

"I didn't hit Four!" I exclaim, "Why would you say something like that?"

"I saw you," he says, turning to look at me and crossing his arms.

"You saw me?" I raise an eyebrow, huffing and how disgusting and out of order he's acting. I can't work around someone like this.

"I saw you coming out of Four's house on Sunday morning. I'll have to admit, you looked a little worse for wear, nearly gave my grandma a fright," he laughs in a way that seems menacing to me. I continue to stare at him in shock. "Oh sorry, did I forget to mention? I live opposite him, a few houses down." _He knows what we did._

"Yeah," I swallow. "I think you forgot to mention that."

"You also might want to put your hair down. You've got bite marks all over your neck."

"What the fuck are you doing?" My eyes sting. I don't trust him. Don't trust the way that he's acting. Is he trying to use this against me? He grabs my arm and pulls me into the back. I resist, but not enough to stop him. He lets go of me when we're in the kitchen, and I back away near the door. I should have told Four I wasn't okay. I should have told him.

"Do you know how small this part of town is?" He says, whispering harshly.

"Huh?" I am dumfounded at his change of demeanour. It only makes me trust him even less.

"Everyone knows each other. Everyone lives near each other. You can't just walk around the streets half naked clearly a mess from the night before. People talk. Heck, the customers talk! If Becky found out you'd be as good as fired."

"And why would you care about what happens to me? Why would you care what I get up to in my free time?" He looks down at the floor, shaking his head, exasperated.

"You'll get a name for yourself," he steps closer to me again. "Do you want that? Do you want people talking about you? They'll whisper. They'll say 'she's the girl that got fired from the bakery for being a little slut'," he taunts and I slap him across his face. Right across his cheek, harshly. So harshly that his head whips to the side and he keeps it there for a minute. He slowly turns his head back to face me, rubbing his cheek a little, all the while his eyes darkening and a smirk growing on his lips. "Didn't like that did you?"

"Leave me alone," I command, trying to sound as deadly and intimidating as possible. To do so, I try to adopt a similar voice to Four's quiet one. However it just makes me sound like a moody teenager.

"Why? What makes him so special?"

"You're jealous," I spit. It's all so obvious now. He's insecure and jealous. An immature little boy.

"Hell no. I just figured that if you're giving it out for free then I may as well get some. It's only fair."

"You're absolutely despicable."

"Really? What about yourself, leaving your friend to rot in jail when you got off scott-free."

"Kyle, I, I don't understand," I gulp. How could he possibly know about all of that? How could he know? "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Yes you do. Stop acting like a little princess. Everyone knows about your friend Lynn, and I know that there was more to the story. You know, she didn't get arrested on her own. I know that there's more to the story than what you're telling people. Except Four. He knows something, doesn't he?" I look down at the floor, avoiding his eye contact and he scoffs. "God, Tris. You don't owe him anything for him keeping your secrets."

"Of course I know that! He's my friend. He has a right to know about my life. Unlike you. What happened is none of your concern, it has nothing to do with you. And I'll say it one last time; You need to leave me alone." I push past him harshly, making my way out of the kitchen in a scurry, desperate to get back to the front of the bakery because I can't stand one more minute of being alone with him. So for the rest of the day, I avoid leaving the realms of the front counter, even when I'm desperate to use the bathroom. I can't work somewhere like this, where I'm afraid to be alone with my colleague. I watch the time pass on the clock, praying that each hour passes without another struggle. Thankfully as the day goes on, a few more customers start to come in, and so the bakery is never completely empty. It makes me feel better, but the occasional stares from Kyle do not. When it gets to the afternoon, I call Four and tell him that I'm ready to leave. Even though my shift doesn't technically finish for another hour, Becky isn't here and I don't care about leaving Kyle to man the place on his own. I don't think I could cope finishing up with him and being alone together whilst we're locking up. For all I know he could follow me home to do some more snooping.

My phone vibrates when Four is outside, and I quickly hang up my cap and apron and hurry out, not caring to say goodbye. I jump into the passenger seat of his car, leaning my head back against the seat, the threatening promise of tears starting to prickle my eyes. _Be brave_. I think to myself, he's just a stupid boy. He doesn't know anything. He wouldn't do anything. I feel like I'm being blackmailed, but I don't know what for. I haven't done anything that bad, even though I do have a couple of secrets. But the only people I would want to hide them from is my mother, in order to stay living with her at home, and Becky, in order to keep my job.

"What did that fucker do?" Four snaps.

"What are you talking about?" I say, trying to sound indifferent.

"That dip-shit blonde guy. He was all up in your personal space when I came in this morning, and you looked like you'd seen a ghost."

"He didn't do anything."

"Then what's his problem? Why are you so upset?"

"I'm not upset," I shrug but I know he doesn't believe me.

"Tris, I know you better than that. Tell me what the hell is going on or I'll go in there right now."

"You're not going in there! He was just trying to wind me up, that's all. He knows about a couple of things and he was trying to use it against me, at least I think."

"You think?"

"I think he tried to make a move on me, implying that I was easy. That I was a slut. I, that's why I left early, he kind of scared me." Four's face is the epitome of anger and madness. He unbuckles his seatbelt and before I can argue him not to, springs out of the car. "Four!" I shout, as he slams the car door shut with so much force the vehicle shakes. "Don't you dare go in there!" I threaten, but he walks past me in a determined manner, his shoulders back and his head high. I try to pull on his arm but he shakes me off, stomping into the bakery. He casually walks behind the counter to where a speechless Kyle is stood, discreetly grabbing onto his shirt and dragging him into the back away from the few customers who are sat at the tables. That's when things get ugly. He pushes Kyle backwards, shoving him against a wall. He isn't being quiet and intimidating, he's being pretty damn terrifying. His face is red with hanger, every muscle on his body standing to attention. His hand is fisted up in Kyle's shirt collar, and Kyle looks as though he could cry for his mother at any given minute.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Four bellows. I run up to them and try to pull Four away, but he pushes me behind him and continues to pounce on Kyle. Kyle stammers, lost for words and terrified beyond belief. "What's wrong tough guy? Can't seem to find your voice now, can you?"

"Four, please," I beg. "Leave it alone."

"No, you see, boys like you need to be told. Need to be put in their place. What makes you think you can talk to people like that, huh? What makes you think you can talk to a woman like that?" Four says, his voice screaming with deadly fright. "Answer me!"

"I'm sorry," Kyle whimpers, sounding pathetic and lowly. I know I should be throwing myself between them to stop this, because threatening people is wrong, but theres a part of me that enjoys this, the part that was cowering in the kitchen earlier on in the day.

"You're sorry? That's it? You act like a psychotic dick and it takes for me to slam you against this wall for you to come up with _sorry?_"

"I didn't mean what I said," he says. "I promise. I was just trying to mess with her."

"Why? Why the fuck would you do that."

"I thought she was up for it, I though she'd want me," Kyle says, whimpering again. _Bad choice of words_, I think. Four seems to think so to. His rage takes a whole new level and he slams him against the wall again. He fists his hand and draws it back, all reason completely gone from his eyes. _I must stop him_. I must stop him from going back to a bad place, a place where he hasn't been in so long.

"Four you need to stop now," I shriek, blocking his fist with my own and pulling his arms away. "He's not worth it," I run my hands along his arms in a calming manner. "It's not worth it," I whisper. "You're better than this. Just leave it, let's go." His grip on Kyle starts to sag as he leans into my embrace, where my body is pressed against his back, my arms still running up and down his arms. I feel his breathing calm, and his shoulders drop as he lets go of him.

"You so much as lay a finger on her," he points to Kyle, "or even say another bad word to her, I'm coming back. And next time I won't stop." He charges away, and I chase after him out of the bakery. He stops when we're outside, taking a couple of calming strides and running his hands through his hair. I gape at him in complete dismay and hurt for a moment, angered that he let himself act in such a way. I understand that he wanted to help me, but I know, _I just know,_ that if I weren't there he wouldn't have stopped.

"What the hell was that," I shout, my voice strangled by sadness. I stride up to him and hit his chest, continuing to do so until he looks up at me.

"He needed to be told," he says numbly, a frown upon his face.

"To be _told?_ You did much more than tell him off, Four. You almost lost it!"

"I just got angry," his voice sounding weak and vulnerable.

"Angry?" I step even closer to him. "And what about this?" I point to the bruise coating the side of his face. "And this?" I pick up his large hand, pointing to his bruised and crusted knuckles. "Was this when you 'just got angry' too?" He stares at the floor, failing to answer me. "Tell me!" I command. Still, he doesn't answer. I slap his chest again when he continues to ignore me. "See, I'm pushing you now, yet you're still ignoring me," I shove him a little harder this time. "Violence doesn't always get you what you want, does it?" I push on his chest again, until he grabs my wrist and pulls me against him, engulfing me in his arms. As much as I love the idea of melting into him, I can't do it. I remain stiff in his grip until he gets the idea.

"Sorry," he mutters, pulling away and scratching the back of his neck.

"Lets go sit in the car," I sigh. We make our way over to the small car park, resuming the positions we had before it all kicked off. He slouches in his seat for a while, gazing into the nothingness beyond the dashboard. I evaluate him, watching how hopeless he looks, how different he looks. "Does it hurt?" I murmur, running my finger tips along his facial bruise. He shakes his head in response, continuing to stare ahead. So we continue to sit there in complete silence, both of us mulling over today's events. When I woke up this morning, I didn't expect any of this drama. I didn't expect any of this emotion or angst. I watch him calm down for a while, but there's still something that's bothering him, still something that he's failing to tell me. But I know that that's the way it is with Four, it's the way he'll always be. He has so much going on in that head of his that he can't fathom it most of the time, let alone begin to want to share it with another person. "I have to take Hector to his football game today," I say. "Would you like to come with us?" I know he used to play football, perhaps that would help take his mind off things. Whatever it is he's thinking so hard about.

"That sound good," he smiles slightly, turning the engine on and plugging his seatbelt in, the resounding click and churn breaking the silence. I watch him carefully as we drive to Lynn's house, watch as he slowly composes himself, putting himself back together and letting the mask grow. He probably knows that I'm staring at him, and he also probably doesn't even care. But neither do I, so I continue to do so. We pull up just as I see Hector bounding down the sidewalk, his backpack bouncing and thudding against his back as he engages in an eager sprint to arrive home from school. I wind the window down and call out for him, his brown curls sweeping with the wind as he trots over to us with an ever innocent smile on his face.

"You're early," he says, crooking his neck to the side so that he can look past me and glance at Four. Children are so obviously curious sometimes.

"I know, so hurry up and get your kit on, you'll have time to practice and warm up before the game today," I say, nudging him away from the car so that I can run inside and change into his gear.

"Do you always take him?" Four asks me, his voice sounding more normal.

"No, Lynn does. But since she went away, Shauna's taken up the task. She couldn't make it today so she asked if I could go."

"Oh, what about his mom?"

"She doesn't really leave the house much," I shrug, winding the window back up when I see Hector coming out of the house, his kit in hand. He scurries into the back seat of the car, Four telling him to buckle up. Thankfully this time, the eerie silence in the car is broken by Hector talking passionately about the game tonight, and how he made a bet at school that his team would win purely because Tommy from the other team plays like a girl. I chastise him, telling him that there are many woman who are amazing at sports, who could kick his ass when it comes to football, and therefore his insult was 'stupid' and invalid. Four laughs at this, warning Hector that he should be more frightened of the women in his life than the men. Hector honestly seems too confused and immature to understand any of this, as he's still at that age where girls are full of pink and glitter and he'll get burned if any of it gets on him. We arrive there a little too early, the coach is still setting things up and the field is empty. The coach tells him to get changed and to start warming up, giving him a head start against the rest. I usher Four onto the field, hinting that he should show Hector a thing or two about playing the game. He shies away at first, giving the excuse that he's too 'rusty' and hasn't played in a while, but eventually I win and he jogs onto the field with Hector. I watch from the stands as they pass a ball between each other, picking up speed and starting to get into it. Four loosens up, showing off a little and seemingly enjoying himself. He corrects Hector's stance and demonstrates a few tricks that he's learned over time. Hector seems pleased with this encouragement, as I'm sure it's something he's never had before. He's never had a dad that's had enough time to play with him, since his own works incredibly hard. He also doesn't have an older brother, just his two sisters. And Zeke isn't that great with kids, especially when it comes to football, easily beating them at the sport without actually having fun and showing them how they can improve. Eventually all the other kids start to arrive, and the coach blows his whistle to order an official warm up. Four pats Hector on the back before jogging off the field and making his way up the stands to sit next to me. "Have fun?" I smile.

"Yeah, he's actually not bad. Got pretty good coordination," he says, slightly out of breath.

"He'd be really good if he had someone like you paying attention to him. Lynn tries her best but she's never been into football."

"I wouldn't mind helping him out," he acts nonchalant but I know he enjoyed that even more than Hector did. We watch as they continue to warm up, whilst the other families arrive and sit around to watch. Since it's only an after-school club type game, the stands don't get busy and we're the only ones sat in our block. I shuffle back to lean against the concrete step behind me, pulling my feet up onto the seat. The game starts and mothers and fathers cheer for their children, laughing with each other and generally just having a good time in this relaxed atmosphere. However I remain deeply distracted by the person sat next to me, sitting pressed against his side and wanting to know more. No matter how close I've been with him, I still don't know him. He's still the mysterious man who adopted a number for a name.

"Are you going to tell me where you got the bruise?" I ask softy, not wanting to rub him up the wrong way again.

"My dad," he states, running his tongue along his teeth. He moves his arm so that it's draped behind me, and shuffles around in his seat a little, and act of discomfort.

"Your _dad?_"

"Yeah," he sighs.

"Why would he do something like that? Why would he hit you?"

"Because I said something terrible. I suppose I deserve it," he shrugs.

"But, no matter what you say, that doesn't mean that he should hit you."

"What can I say. Like father like son," he laughs humourlessly. I know better than to ask him what he exactly said, but knowing what Four's attitude can be like, I'd rather not know.

"Did you hit him back?"

"I shoved him. Then I hit the wall instead," he runs his fingers across his damaged knuckles. They look similar to the way mine did when I got in a fight with the television.

"Were you having an argument?"

"Yeah," he swallows, "they, uh, didn't like the fact that I brought someone home." I would feel guilty, but I know it's not my fault, he's old enough to engage in relationships like that, and his stiff parents shouldn't have a problem with it.

"Is that why you were angry today?"

"I suppose. But I've not felt this out of control in a while. I have a lot of different, feelings..lately and I guess I don't really know how to deal with all of that."

"Is that why you got annoyed with Kyle?" I say quietly, not wanting to be vein and automatically presuming his 'feelings' are about myself.

"I guess I did get a little over protective, yeah." For a moment, the cogs turn in my brain and I think about the things Sarah and Marcus must have said to him on Sunday morning. Perhaps they said something bad about me, and that's why he got angry.

"I trust you," I say, reassuring both him and myself.

"What makes you say that?"

"Because I think you don't trust yourself, you have self-doubt, and that's what worries you. But I want you to know, that I trust you." He wraps his arm around my shoulders, nodding solemnly.

"Forgive me?" He says.

"Of course I forgive you," I lean my head on his shoulder. "That's the scary part. I don't think I could ever _not_ forgive you."

* * *

**I made a tumblr account: yabooklover20**


	19. Workout

**A/N- I do not own the Divergent characters. Rights go to Veronica Roth. **

* * *

September 27th

"I can't hear you Lynn, can you not speak a little louder?" I say, pressing my phone even harder and closer against my ear, whilst walking into the living room where it's quieter.

"Sorry, I'm just trying to avoid people from listening into my calls," she exhales with displeasure.

"Aren't all your calls recorded and listened to anyway?"

"I suppose, but I like to pretend I have privacy. Keeps me feeling dignified, you know?"

"Whatever helps you sleep at night," I chuckle. I've missed talking to her, missed her casual sense of humour. "So how are you? And I'm sorry I couldn't visit you this week, it's just difficult for me to travel down there."

"Don't worry about it, Tris. The other inmates did warn me that I would stop getting visitors after the first few weeks, so." She tries to sound nonchalant and sarcastic, but I know that she's hurting. No matter how well she masks her heart, she can never hide it from me.

"Honestly I feel bad and you know I would if I could. I'll write letters, I'll answer your phone calls, I'd do anything-"

"_Tris_ it's okay, I understand. Really. Thank you for the letters and the little sketches, and just for picking up the phone. I didn't mean to sound ungrateful…it just gets lonely in here."

"What about your parents? Didn't they go to see you on Wednesday?"

"Well my dad can't get the time off from work and my mom always makes excuses, saying that she's looking after Hector. You know, even though he's in middle school and perfectly capable of being home alone for an hour."

"Does she find it too upsetting? Seeing you as an inmate, I mean."

"No, it's not that," she snorts, "she just thinks that she's all high and mighty and way above all of the people who are involved with the prison. And she obviously doesn't want to come here on her own. But regardless of that, she should push her own feelings aside and just come and see me. She should come and see me because I need her. I _need_ someone."

"I know it must be tough. I know it's worse for you because you're the one that's actually _there_, living through it. But remember that your parents are still hurting, and your mom isn't acting this way out of spite."

"I guess," she mumbles. "God, I miss you so much. It's just nice to hear your voice again, even if I can't see your face."

"Well my face hasn't changed that much, but it's good to speak to you too. What about Marlene, have you spoken to her?"

"Yeah I called her. She told me that she wouldn't be able to visit me again because she won't get the time off college or the funds to travel back to Chicago. So basically I don't know what the hell is happening between me and her. It's all bullshit. Sometimes I think that it would be easier if I just told her to leave it alone and never speak to her again. I mean, she's going to have this amazing career and a bunch of friends, and look at where I am. Hell, she'd be better off with Uriah than with me. What kind of life could we possibly have together? I'll bet she hasn't even though about a life that we could have. So it hurts. It really does."

"You deserve someone good. Someone who wants to be with you. And I know that you're never going to give up trying with Marlene, and not that I blame you because she's a pretty amazing person. But you're worthy. You're worthy of someone's time and patience and love. I'm almost positive that you'll find it one day."

"Well," she whistles out in awe, "look at you, with all your heartfelt words. Thank you for saying that. No one else ever has."

"That's what I'm here for."

"Me too, and all those things you said apply to yourself. A little bit of advice, don't let anyone take advantage of you when it comes to relationships. If you find that special person, make them commit to you. Don't do what I did and just dive into it all when you haven't even settled your feelings for one another. As I've learned, that's how you get your heart broken," she says. I stay silent. "Tris?"

"Huh?" I clear my throat, "oh, yeah, of course."

"Alright…"

"Listen, I'm going to the gym in a minute so I need to go. Call me soon, I promise I'll pick up."

"The gym? Jeez, Tris. Okay, I need to get back to my cell now anyway. Keep sending me those letters!"

"I will, I'm sketching you a little comic right now," I laugh. We say our final goodbyes and hang up the phone. So I lay on my bed, thinking about what Lynn said, and about Four. I find myself getting frustrated lately, unable to shake him from my mind. What would he say, if he knew he was the subject of the majority of my thoughts? If he knew he was what I thought about when I seek comfort, reassurance, release.

It's later on in the afternoon when Four and I are walking into the gym side by side. I don't know how he managed to persuade me to come with him, I suppose I was bored and curious. I also don't mind the sight of him in his gym clothes. "So, what do you normally do here?" I question.

"A little bit of everything, I suppose. More or less stick to the weights though."

"Do you come with Zeke?"

"Sometimes, but usually in the morning I just come on my own because he's lazy," he laughs. "What do you prefer doing?"

"I used to run and swim a lot."

"Treadmills it is then?" He smiles, setting his bag down by the lockers and pulling out a towel and water bottle. I do the same

"Sure. But I haven't really done any exercise at all since I left school. So I don't know how fit I am anymore."

"Just don't overwork yourself, you'll be fine." We walk over to the treadmills, each taking one next to the other. I attach the little safety clip to my yoga pants and start off with a speed walk to warm myself up, as does Four. The treadmills are situated in front of a large mirrored wall so that we can see each other in it, and also ourselves. I examine myself as I break into a slight jog, noticing how much my body has changed. I guess I've gotten out of shape, considering my calves and arms aren't defined like they used to be, and I no longer have a rock solid toned stomach. When I was a younger teenager, I used to ride horses, swim laps, and run competitively on my track team. Since then my desire to be sporty has burned out, and later on in my school life I only ever took part in physical education classes. Now I have more curves and softness than I used to, and I suppose I look more mature and womanly as a result. My chest is no longer flush against my ribs, I now even have cleavage and small hips. I wonder if it's noticeable? I guess no matter how much I change, I'll always look back in the reflection and see the skinny little awkward fourteen year old that I once was. When I start to break into a run, I'm thankful I decided to wear a good sports bra, especially with Four right next to me. And then I realise how much I've missed this. I've missed feeling energetic and free, I've missed stretching my limbs and making my heart race. So I bump up the speed on my treadmill, making myself work harder.

"You're actually a fast runner," Four pants, looking over at me. I smile in response, too out of breath to force words out of my mouth.

After a while spent running, he announces that he's going to go do some lifting and use the punching bags. I slow back down into a light jog once he's gone, but sooner or later I get curious and join him. His hands are taped with black and sweat drips from every inch of him. I watch as he pelts the blood red bag with so much force I think it's going to swing off its hook and knock someone out cold. He notices me observing and stills the bag, wiping sweat off his brow using the back of his hand. "Want to try?" He asks.

"I don't have any muscle," I step back reluctantly, biting my lip.

"Come here," he holds out his hands and I step towards him. He turns my body around in front of him so that I'm standing sideways against the bag. He moves my arm so that my forearm is hovering parallel to my chest, and bends my elbow to a point. "You'll be better at using your knees and elbows. Hit there," he points to the middle of the punch bag, and I count to three and slam my elbow into it, successfully making the bag jolt. "Not bad Prior," he smirks, "but remember to keep tension here," he places a hand over my stomach, pressing firmly against it whilst his other hand rests on my back. I try to hide the fact that I nearly swallowed my tongue by nodding my head a little too vigorously.

"Thanks," I mutter, stepping away from the bag and allowing him to continue. I look over his shoulder and out of the indoor window, where I can see the huge swimming pool and jacuzzi area.

"Go swimming while I carry on with this if you want," he says. "I'll come find you in a bit."

"Okay," I smile, walking off to the changing rooms. I find my self a secluded corner to change in, and quickly step into my black one piece bathing suit, which is a little more stylish and flattering than the ones I used to wear. After shoving my things back in my locker and putting the rubber band key around my wrist, I head off to the pool area and sit on the edge. When I dip my feet into the lukewarm water, I instantly feel at home and a grin breaks out across my face. My mom used to call me her little fish because of how much I loved the water. I would beg her to take me swimming every Wednesday night after school, and she'd have to pull me out kicking and screaming when it came to closing time. I push myself off the edge and sink in, so that the water comes up to my waist, and lurch forewords into a breast stroke. I bend my body with the ripples and waves when I dive underwater, indulging in the feeling of being almost weightless. As I come up for air, I wipe the water out of my eyes and begin to swim laps back and forth until my legs start to feel like jelly and the momentum of the water feels more like a brick wall. I need to rest. I go to the shallow end and push myself out of the lanes of the pool and into the free-swim area, so that I can relax and mess around and go underwater again.

I'm floating on my back, getting closer and closer to the deep end, looking up at the ceiling and faintly listening to the background noise of joyful screams and splashing water when two hands wrap around my waist and I'm pulled under. I frantically flail around, listening to my underwater echoing shrieks of protest, and watching the bubbles fly out of my mouth through squinted eyes. I see brown hair and tanned skin float in front of me, and two arms helping me upwards as I desperately kick my legs to resurface. I plummet out of the water, gasping for air and coughing wetly. Four resurfaces after me, laughing and shaking his head side to side to get rid of the water in his hair. I splutter again, kicking rapidly to keep afloat but my feet can't touch the bottom so my mouth keeps going back under. He grabs onto my waist again, lifting me upwards to get air.

"You absolute idiot!" I laugh, but I'm interrupted by my coughing again, swallowing pool water isn't the nicest thing. My nose burns.

"I couldn't resist that, the way you were just floating there was too opportunistic," he wipes my wet hair away from my face before I splash him with water.

"Hey!"

"That's what you get," I giggle, but nearly fall under the water again when I try to let my feet touch the bottom. "Crap!"

"What are you doing in the very deep end, the water is about twice the height of you," he pulls me towards him and I wrap my legs around his waist, keeping my self surfaced.

"I was floating," I settle my hands on his shoulders, "can you touch the bottom?"

"Barely," he says, the water coming up just under his chin, "are you sure you don't have fins? Never seen someone swim so fast underwater."

"Nope, if I did then I wouldn't have just nearly drowned when you dragged me under," I say sarcastically.

"Your expression was priceless," he tries to pull us both under this time, but I disentangle myself from him and swim away as quickly as I can.

"Do that again and I'll dunk your head under," I say, my back pressed against the side of the pool when he corners me.

"Relax," he laughs placing one hand on the edge of the concrete next to my head, "I'm not going to. Although I would love to see you scream like that again."

"Hilarious," I mutter, rolling my eyes. "You're pretty bad at swimming by the way."

"It's because I don't shave my legs."

"What are you talking about?" I look at him incredulously before bursting out laughing.

"Swimmers shave their arms and legs so that they're more streamlined," he argues, his voice raising in pitch, a smirk growing on his face when he realises how stupid he sounds.

"I'm pretty sure it's because you're six foot and about a hundred and fifty pounds of pure muscle... not the fact that you don't shave your legs Four," I snigger.

"Whatever," he splashes me with water again and I jump on him to duck his head under the water.

"I warned you," I grin mischievously when it's his turn to cough and splutter, but quickly swim out of the way incase he tries to do it to me again.

After we were done in the pool, we decided to head over to the sauna room before we had to shower and get back in time for the family dinner Sarah is cooking for us, including my mother. We both know it's going to be awkward and boring so I'll admit we're trying to stall a little. We take a seat next to each other on one of the large benches at the back, him leaning against the wall and me laying down on my back, my legs draped across his lap. The sweat drips down our skin, and he runs his fingers through the little droplets of remaining pool water on my legs. I won't be able to lie down for long because the heat of the bench is starting to burn my back, since I don't have a towel to lie on.

"Should have brought our towels," he says, scrunching his shorts up higher so they don't heat up and cling to his legs.

"I was just thinking that, my back's burning." I sit up, my legs still across him, so I'm now half-on, half-off his lap. I lean my shoulder against the wall, facing the side of his head. My heart thrums in my chest due to the close proximity, goosebumps forming on my skin even though the heat is ripe in here. We're interrupted from our conversation by the sound of a quiet moan at the other end of the room. It came from a couple who are sat in the corner, similar to my age, both getting pretty into each other. My eyes widen and Four tries to stifle a laugh as we see them kissing deeply and obviously groping each other. "Do they not realise we're in here?" I whisper.

"I don't think they care," he pulls a disgusted face when the girl straddles the boy and grinds into him, they bite and lick at each others skin. The boy's hand begins to travel up the girls towel, eliciting more moans from her. "That's it, I think we should leave them to it," he says, quickly grabbing my hand for us to dodge our way out of there before getting scarred for life by something we definitely don't want to witness. It was a very public display of affection indeed.

"Why the hell were they doing that in there?" I almost shriek.

"Beats me, they must have known we were in there," Four says as we walk back by the pool again.

"I know. And I think she was definitely naked underneath that towel," I shudder, "they need to save it for the bedroom, no one wants to see that."

"Well I hope the cleaners do a good job of scrubbing the benches, or else I'm never going in there again." Then I realise we're still hand in hand, our fingers entwined. I look down at where we're linked, then back up at Four again who peers at me with a conflicted look in his eyes. "I'm going to get showered now," he says quietly.

So we go our separate ways, showering and changing to get ready for the 'family dinner' tonight. Since we're so worn out after the gym, we take a while getting ready and making our way back, resulting in us being a little late. My mom's car is already parked in his driveway, and we can see Sarah rushing around through the kitchen window. "I hope dinner isn't already done," Four says glumly, "Sarah will be annoyed if we're late for it."

"She's very formal isn't she?" I unbuckle my seatbelt and grab my bag as we get out of the car.

"Yeah," he sighs, "only out of good intentions though I suppose. Your hair's still wet at the back by the way," he runs his fingers through it.

"I know, I didn't have time to dry it properly," I shove his hand away and scruff up his hair, since he thinks it's okay to mess mine up. Then he starts laughing to himself whilst he gets out of the car, I follow behind him as we make our way into the house.

"What are you laughing at?" I say, a smile growing on my face.

"Your face when I pulled you under the water. Wish I got a photo, you looked like you were about to shit yourself."

"Shut up!" I shove him into the wall as he pulls his jacket and shoes off, "what about your face in the sauna. You went bright red," I tease.

"I'm pretty sure that's because, you know, we were in a _sauna._ That's what happens, your skin goes red."

"Whatever, I know you were blushing." We continue to laugh and tease each other as we dump our bags and walk into the dining room, being met by the three surprised faces of my mother, Marcus and Sarah.

"Good day?" Marcus says, smiling and putting his newspaper down. Sarah holds a bottle of wine in her hands and is pouring out a glass for my mom.

"Yeah, we've just been at the gym," Four replies while taking a seat at the table, but not before pulling out a chair for me.

"I suppose it's nice for you to see them both together again, isn't it?" Sarah beams to my mother and Marcus, looking over us both in admiration and bemusement.

"What do you mean 'together again'?" I say quizzically, still smiling but looking round the room in confusion. Four stares determinedly at his placemat, and everyone seems to develop a tense look in their eyes.

"Well," Marcus says after a short while of uncomfortable silence, "your mother brought you around when you were still a toddler, Tobias must have been about six years old then."

"Oh, I don't remember. Do you?" I look at Four but he shrugs noncommittally, ignoring the question, playing with his cutlery instead. My mother clears her that, offering a stern almost pleading look to Marcus. She then quickly changes the subject to something about gardening.

"Mom," I cut in, causing her to abruptly stop talking, "you never told me I came here when I was younger. I thought it was before I was born."

"You shouldn't interrupt people's conversations. It's rude," she reprimands harshly, then continues with her meaningless conversation, which is merely serving as a distraction. I stare Four down, but he doesn't give me the attention. He instead blanks me and joins in with the conversation about how gardeners are too expensive to hire. I float away into my own little world, confused about how that little revelation could shake up the atmosphere so dramatically. Everything about it is eerie.

Sarah soon comes back out of the kitchen, this time bearing plates of food. She's cooked enough to feed a small army, every kind of meat roasted with vegetables and potatoes. We eat in general silence, Sarah and Marcus talking about some charity event that they want to include my mom in. I can feel Four glance at me every so often, but I keep my attention on my food, ignoring him like he ignored me earlier. By the time I've finished eating everything, I feel just about ready to crawl into bed. Still, we all make our way into the family room where the drinking and mindless small talk continues, the three of them laughing and making jokes about things I don't even understand. I sit next to Four on the smaller sofa, and feel my eyelids begin to droop more and more. I haven't been this active in a while, it's taken its toll on my usual lazy self. Eventually I begin to nod off, my head springing back up when I catch my self drifting off to sleep. Then I feel Four shaking my knee, and I realise my eyes were still closed.

"Tired?" He asks. I mumble in response, shifting around on the couch, finding it almost painful to stay awake. "They're playing music in the kitchen now," he titters, "I think they're getting drunk." Again, I mumble, too tired for words. He shifts up to the other end of the couch and I slide down, my head resting on his legs, giving in to my exhaustion.

I don't know what time it is, when my mother sloppily shakes me awake, the stench of red wine radiating from her mouth. I feel groggy and dazed, disturbed from deep sleep. My neck feels stiff and my arms are cold, except from the patch of warmth from where Four's hand rests. "There's a cab for us outside," she whispers, sounding giddy and laid-back. I hum in confusion, sitting up from where I was laying. Four remains still, his eyes closed. The music has stopped, and I can see the faint chimes of clattering dishes as someone clears up in the kitchen. "Come on, grab your bag," she says, pulling me up from the couch. I look at the time on her watch and see that it's passed midnight, surprised that we stayed for so long. I get up, stretching out my back and stirring Four awake. Like me, he's drugged with sleep and exhaustion. My mother walks out of the living room, pulling her shoes and coat on. I say goodbye to him, as he gets up from the couch and rubs the sleep out of his eyes. Marcus and Sarah are similarly merry, clearing up the wine glasses before seeing us out the door.

When we're sat in the taxi, my mom is swaying side to side, and I know that there's no hope in trying to get her to explain to me what the tension was all about at dinner. I shiver with the cool night air that's made its way into the old taxi car. I try to close my eyes again, hoping that my relaxation and tiredness doesn't escape me. I find it difficult to fall asleep lately. However, my mom keeps stealing glances at me, rather obviously, with a smirk plastered across her face. She looks away quickly when I notice her.

"What are you smiling at?" I say, the corners of my mouth twitching upwards in a lousy attempt at trying to remain serious.

"Oh nothing," she sighs, still smiling. I don't press her, since she's being nonsensical, and I'd rather not bother. We continue to sit in silence for another couple of minutes, but then she nudges me with her elbow and says, "he's a handsome boy, you know."

I gape at her in surprise for a moment, biting my cheek and fighting a grin of my own. "That he is," I say.

* * *

**Hope people in the US had a good Thanksgiving! **

**I've been so busy this week, so I'll only be updating once instead of twice, sorry. I didn't really have this chapter planned, but I felt like they needed to have fun after the blow up last time :)**

**Thanks for those of you who reviewed! It keeps me motivated. **

**I'm aiming to have the next chapter up on Monday as usual. **


	20. In His Kiss

**A/N- I do not own Divergent, rights go to Veronica Roth. **

* * *

October 4th

Infuriated. _Verb. Past tense: to be extremely angry and impatient_— in my case, also confused— that's how I feel.

As my mother stands in front of me, stirring the meat stew in the pot whilst talking aimlessly off track about something completely unrelated to my question, I don't even bother to listen to her. Of course, I can see her lips moving, her eyebrows quirking, her lazy hand gestures. But I don't hear her words. I don't want to.

"Why were you annoyed at dinner last week? Why didn't you tell me that we used to visit Four's family in my lifetime?" Is the question that I asked her when I came down to the kitchen this afternoon. She was slow cooking some meat, probably to put in the freezer so I had food for the week.

"Whatever are you talking about?" She had replied, acting completely oblivious. Acting. Now she's talking about some charity events she used to attend with them, how nice Four's mother was and how it was _such a shame_ that she died. A shame. It wasn't a shame, it was devastation. A catastrophe. An almost life-ruining event. I know my mother isn't often truly honest with me, but she's never completely avoided a question like this before. Today I just want the truth. I'm tired and fed-up and I don't want any dilly-dallying for once.

"Why did you and dad get a divorce?" I ask, and her wooden spoon drops out of her hand, splashing stew water over both her apron and the tiles. She lifts her head slowly, looking straight ahead at the wall, swallowing thickly. "Mom?" I prompt. She steps back from the stove, wiping her hands on her apron with haste.

"I don't know what to say," she sounds caught off guard and opens and closes her mouth a few times, unable to search for the right words.

"The truth would be a good start," I offer. She smiles tightly at me, ridding herself of her apron and turning the heat down on the stove to leave the food to simmer. She walks past me to pull out a chair, sitting down and smoothing down her dress, looking glum and defeated.

"There really isn't anything too complicated about the whole thing," she sighs. "What would you like to know?"

"Just-Just why it had to end. Why I've never seen him or my brother since."

"It was the custody agreement," she scrubs her palm across her cheek, "I got the daughter, he got the son. We thought it would work out better that way, you'd both get what you needed."

"But why can't I see him?"

"Well, I suppose now you technically can, since you're eighteen-"

"No, I mean why did I never see him after you split up? Why did I never see Caleb? Even just for short visits?"

"He wanted to live in Florida, and I wanted to go to New York. I couldn't bear to see him every now and then, and we thought it would be too much for you both, having to go to different schools for a few weeks whilst you visited the other parent. We wanted you to have a stable upbringing, one that was right for you. We argued about money, about everything. The judge suggested that since we had been married for so long, we should just split everything in half. Including you and Caleb."

"But Caleb and I aren't property or money. We're people, we're your children!"

"Of course you are, but it's worked out for the best this way." She admonishes me and attempts to continue with her cooking, but I'm exasperated and she's still ignoring the real question here.

"Why did all of this happen in the first place?" I ask. "Please, just tell me." It can't be anything too terrible, at least nothing that would land one or the other in prison.

"We didn't love each other anymore," she says sharply, "we rushed into marriage, when we didn't even know what love was. He had a promising, stable future and I knew how to cook and clean, so we were the perfect match. Everything looked good on paper, so we ignored what our hearts were really telling us. Of course I have no regrets, since I got two beautiful children out of it. But the lack of affection soon became unbearable. We weren't fulfilling each other like a husband and wife should. We became silent enemies in our own home, always in competition with one another, always looking for more but never being truly satisfied. He didn't satisfy me." The truth floods though my mind like a tsunami, wiping away all reason and coherence. Satisfy. That's the only word that I managed to latch onto.

"You cheated on him, didn't you?" I croak, my voice wavering, along with my thoughts.

"Beatrice," she shakes her head and tries to approach me, but I back away, back away from this person who I do not know.

"How could you?" I expect tears to fall, but my face remains dry. Should I be upset? Should I be angry? Should I blame it on her? I race up to my room, and she lets me. She doesn't bother chasing me up the staircase, doesn't bother excusing herself or helping me to see reason. I respect her more for that. I'm not frantic nor desperately upset, I just lay down on my bed carefully, my mind still processing. I can both hear and see my heart racing, racing as fast as my mind.

It's funny, how I managed to fall asleep straight after that ordeal. Since I hadn't been able to sleep all week. I suppose it was my body's way of coping. It just wanted to shut down. My phone vibrates from where it was still sat in my pocket, and I have to fight the grogginess to bring myself back to reality and answer it. It's stopped ringing by the time I take it out of my pocket, and I see that I have a few missed calls from Four. How long was I asleep? A couple of hours, since it's now the evening. I call him back, clearing my throat and rubbing the sleep from my eyes when he answers.

"Where've you been?" He asks, sounding stressed and I can hear a crying noise in the background.

"Um," my voice is quiet and sleepy, "sorry, fell asleep. What's going on?"

"Can you come to mine? I need your help with something."

I yawn and stretch out, blinking my eyes rapidly to try and wake. "Sure, sure. I'll be there in a few." We hang up, and I head to the bathroom to splash some cold water on my face to try and bring some life back into myself. The house is quiet, so I presume that my mom left for her shift at the hospital. My eyes still look quite puffy and my hair needs flattening down again. I quickly change my now crumpled clothes, putting on a long blouse and leggings.

There's a slight breeze in the air as I walk over to Four's, the October weather shooing away any leftover signs of the summer that has now sadly escaped us. The leaves are looking worse for wear on the trees, and it won't be long before they turn a much duller shade of brown and fall off in the wind. When I arrive, and he finally opens his front door, I'm shocked to see him carrying a baby in his arms. His t-shirt is covered in a white powder, and like me, he looks a little worse for wear. "Thank God you're here," he breathes a sigh of relief.

"Who's this?" I say, whilst smiling at the pouting baby dressed in blue dungarees.

"This is Olivia," she reaches out a little hand to grab at me when I walk past them and into the house, the sound of children's television playing in the background, toys littering the carpeted floor. "She's Sarah's niece," he continues, leading us into the kitchen, "they've all gone to some important wedding so I got stuck with the job of looking after her." He tries to sit her in the high chair, but that only makes her scream out in protest.

She cries, babbling something that resembles the word "no", incredibly angrily for such a tiny human being. I go to plug my ears when her shrieking and screaming increases in pitch. He lifts her out again and pulls her against his chest.

"If you think that's bad, then you should have seen what happened when I tried to feed her cereal," he rolls his eyes and starts rocking her gently to try and ease her temper.

"How old is she?" I question, laughing when her demeanour quickly changes as she starts to slap Four on the face, giggling when she runs her hands through his stubble.

"Eleven months, she's a nightmare."

"It looks like you're having a nightmare," I gesture to his messy shirt, "What happened?"

"I was making up her formula, but obviously wasn't very successful."

"How? All you have to do is follow the instructions on the tub, I'm sure?"

"See, this is why we need women," he grabs the open can of milk formula that's sitting on the counter and hands it to me. I've never been around children before so I have no idea what to do with a baby. Let alone how to feed it. I start to read the instructions on the tub.

"Did you boil the kettle and let it cool?" I ask.

"Yep, I got as far as pouring it out. It was very difficult with one hand," he says whilst Olivia continues to wriggle in his grip, flapping her legs and trying to bob up and down. I walk over to the sink to wash my hands, after setting the tub on the counter in front of the bottle steriliser. I continue to follow the instructions, using the right amount of water and the right amount of powder. When the bottle is successfully filled, I screw on the top and shake it until it's all mixed up. There, this isn't too difficult. When it's mixed, I run cold water from the tap over the bottle to cool it down, and test the temperature of the milk on the inside of my arm.

"Done," I smile. Four looks at me with awe written across his face, taking the bottle from my hand.

"Why couldn't I do that," he sulks.

"Because you didn't even read the instructions, I bet!" I watch as he cradles Olivia in one arm, whilst holding the bottle in front of her mouth

with the other. She sucks on it happily, putting her tiny hands over his in attempts of holding it herself. "Have you looked after her before?"

"A few times, never on my own though," he starts walking out of the kitchen, "come on, I need to sit down." I follow him into the living room, where he collapses sideways on the sofa, stretching his legs out.

"I'm surprised that you're so easily tired out by such a little human," I taunt, sitting down on the armchair next to him.

"She may be little, but she's hard work," he grabs a magazine from the side and passes it to me, "very much like yourself."

"I'm not hard work!" I take the magazine, rolling it up and slapping his arm with it, which nearly upsets the already annoyed baby.

"Hm, but you _are_ little," he grins. I shake my head, distracting myself by flicking through the magazine. He tells me how the family had to attend a boring yet very important politicians wedding, where children were apparently not allowed to attend. What kind of wedding is that? It should be a family occasion, enjoyed by everyone, no matter what their age. He's had her since early this morning, and her parents will come tomorrow afternoon to pick her up, since they're all staying in a hotel afterwards. We stay sat down for a while, trying to entertain her, until she becomes fussy and irritated.

"Any idea how to dress a baby?" He asks me.

"Really?" I shake my head at his uselessness. "Baby's are more foreign to myself than they are to you. But if you change her, then I'll put the baby grow on, deal?"

"Why do I get the shit end of the deal?"

"That was a terrible joke!" I cover my face in my hands, secretly enjoying the relief of the much happier atmosphere, compared to the earlier events of today. Even though Four and baby Olivia are serving as a great distraction, the revelations still plague my mind, my stomach brewing a storm because of it. I sit there aimlessly, as he pulls out diapers and wipes from the bag, laying out her changing mat on the coffee table, which I do reprimand him for, since he should save that stink of a job for the bathroom near the open window, but men will be men after all. I pull my shirt over my nose whilst he completes the task, revolted by the stench. When she's cleaned up and he's finally finished, he throws away the rubbish and walks back over to me, sitting her on me knee and crouching down on the floor in front of me. He pulls a white baby grow out of the bag, giving it to me to put on. He steadies her as I figure out what goes where, and how to close it with the weird snappy things.

Now, she seems content as he lays back on the sofa with her tummy against his chest, spread out on him and fisting her tiny hands in his shirt. He's going to put her to bed in half an hour, but says that it's easier to get her to sleep first before taking her upstairs on her own. However I sense it's just because he likes her, and wants her cuddled up to his chest. I place a blanket over them, and they stay that way for a while as I sit in silence, mulling over my scatter-brain.

"What are you thinking about?" he mumbles, I failed to notice he was looking at me as I was buried beneath my thoughts.

"Nothing in particular."

He nods, knowing there's something more, "have you eaten dinner?" I think about the stew my mother was making, and feel a punch to my stomach. How is it possible to love someone so much— with your entire being, in fact— but resent them at the same time? It's torturous and borderline unbearable. I would love nothing more than to sit at the dinner table tonight with her, eating her home-cooked food and discussing our days. But it hasn't been that way between us in a long time, and I know that it will be a difficult road to get back to that place.

"No," I mutter, finally remembering to answer the question. "Shall we order in? Pizza or something?"

"Mmm, what are you trying to do to me," he rubs his stomach, which just so happens to be rock hard, "I'm going to get a belly soon if you keep tempting me to eat delicious crap."

"Shut up," I laugh tiredly, "I'm pretty sure you still have abs of steel."

"Abs of steel, huh?" He raises his eyebrows and gives me a cocky grin.

"You know you do," I get up and walk into his kitchen, searching through the drawers where I know the menus are kept. When I walk back into the living room, he's swaddling Olivia up in a blanket carefully, trying not to disturb her too much.

"Will you hold her while I set up her cot? I forgot to do it."

"Sure," I sit next to him on the couch, taking her in my arms as he picks up the stuff for the travel cot and heads upstairs with it. I gently rock this sleeping child in my arms, feigning over her innocence. As I wish I could say I was jealous, but I'm not. She may be innocent now, but sooner or later that thing called life will affect her just as it has affected me. Maybe not in a similar way, but as it does with all of us, it will still get to her. She'll still experience loss and loneliness and heartbreak, just as she will also experience happiness and the rare greatness of the world. I wonder what kind of person she will grow into, whether she'll be cynical like I am or positive with great things to come in her future. I hadn't even noticed Four standing in the doorway, watching over us with a contented grin on his face. Right about now I wish I could read his thoughts. It's a look in his eyes that I've never seen before. "Is it done?" I ask. He nods his head and I get up slowly, carefully following him up the stairs and into the guest bedroom which is next door to his own, trying not to wake her. He pulls back her tiny quilt and I slowly lower her into the cot, us both tucking her in afterwards. I pull back, our hands still resting on the edge of the cot, watching over her as she continues to sleep, her tiny quiet breaths the only noise that can be heard in the room. I glance over at Four, who is still looking at her, warmness spreading throughout my entire being. I don't know what this feeling is, but when he turns to look at me also, I know he's feeling it too.

We ended up shutting off all the lights and locking up downstairs once the pizza arrived, and vacated to Four's room so that we can keep and ear out for Olivia incase she wakes up and starts crying due to being in a strange house. Four usually does end-of-week reports for work on a Friday night or Saturday, and since he didn't get chance today he's trying to get it finished now. He sits at his laptop at his desk while I lay on his bed, messing around on his tablet playing some stupid game that I'm clearly not very good at. Time ticks by, and neither of us have mentioned me going home, for whatever reason. It's getting late at night, and if I wanted to leave, now would be the time. But I don't want to go home to my empty house, my empty bed. Not after today, not so that I can be alone with my thoughts. Four continues to type furiously, trying to get it all done before midnight. I go downstairs to make us both a hot drink, and since I've been here a few times now I know where everything is. That, and because it's super organised. When I take it up to him, he thanks me and squeezes my hand, taking the mug off me.

"Can I borrow something to sleep in?" I ask, obviously also implying that I plan on staying here tonight.

"Sure," he pulls away from his work to root through his drawers and pull out one of his smaller pyjama tops, handing it to me with a smile. Thankfully, he didn't really think anything of my self-invite. I sit back down on his bed and he goes back to his work again, brow furrowed, biting his lip.

"So, are you just going to sit there…"

"What?"

"Turn around so I can change," I say awkwardly.

"Are you serious?" He swivels his chair around to look at me incredulously, a smile threatening to grow on his face.

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"Because I'm not even looking at you, I'm on my laptop."

"I know, but you're still…there."

"So? I already know what you look like naked."

My jaw drops slightly when I realise he's being serious, and he raises an eyebrow, smirking at me. "Stop," I whine, feeling increasingly uncomfortable, especially considering I'm not the most confident about how I look. "I don't want you picturing me naked."

"I'm not perverted, I don't do it all the time," he suppresses a laugh. "I'm just saying, there's no point in hiding when I've already seen it all."

"So you're saying you have a permanent mental picture of me in your head?" He shrugs. "That's gross!" I exclaim.

"No it's not, I'm sure you have one of me."

"But I don't think about it," I start to blush deep red.

"You are now," he winks.

"I'm going to go change in the bathroom, pervert," I huff, walking away before he has a chance to wind me up about blushing a deep tomato colour. I shut the door behind me, stripping off my blouse and bra in order to pull on his top. I leave my leggings on, after being embarrassed by _that_ conversation, and shove my things in my bag. There's a knock on the bathroom door, and I open it to see Four there, holding a new toothbrush with an apologetic look on his face. I smile and take it off him, closing the door again. I continue to get myself cleaned up and ready for bed, fighting back sadness when I see that my mom texted me to inform me that she left a plate of food out. I don't tell her I'm staying out, I just ignore her.

I walk back into the bedroom quietly, where Four is still working, and lay back on his bed on top of the sheets. I don't know whether I should suggest sleeping on the couch, but I decide to watch a film for a while and wait for him to finish. I'll admit, I'm not even concentrating on watching it, my thoughts sending me crazy. I nod off a couple of times, but quickly wake up with the fear of having a bad dream or the sensation that I'm falling. I hope he doesn't notice.

I don't know what time it is, when I hear him get up from the desk and stretch out, the weight of his body on the mattress causing me to roll over slightly. My eyes are closed, but I can hear him throw his jeans on the floor and turn the bedside lamp off. Once he's under the quilt, he pulls the remote away that's still clutched in my hands, and turns the volume down. "I'm still watching," I murmur sleepily.

"Your eyes are closed," he sighs, "and I have a headache."

"Hm," I turn onto my back, my hands clasped behind my head, "what time is it?"

"One," he yawns, as I pull the quilt over myself also. "Are you mad at me?"

"If I was mad at you, do you think I'd be lying here in your bed?" I turn my attention to him, to see him gazing back at me in a perceptive manner._ Why am I in his bed_. I honestly don't know. Whether it's because he's my friend or confidant, or just another human being, is hard to tell. I'm a lonely person, I'll admit that. It's not often that I seek comfort from someone else, but with him, I can't help it. He offers comfort without even saying so. He doesn't judge or pry, and certainly doesn't make me feel uneasy, even when he is being a tease.

Is that why I am here right now?

Or is it for some other reason?

'How I _really_ feel about him' is a difficult topic. One of which I'm not entirely equipped to answer. And when he leans in and presses a kiss to my lips, the lines are blurred for another time. Once again, I am completely at his mercy, putty in his hands. I shift closer to him, our bodies pressing together. His hand moves to cup my face, and my leg fits between his. His lips leave mine a couple of times, to make contact with the skin on my neck and jaw. We continue to kiss gently, our soft heated lips moulding together, steady and sure and familiar. But when his hand creeps up my shirt to rest on the bare skin of my waist, and his tongue slides along my bottom lip, I pull back with a slight frown and puckered lips, unsure of where this is heading.

"Sorry," he murmurs, laying back down on his side of the bed.

"It's okay," I barely whisper, so quiet I'm not even sure he heard me. I turn around, my back facing him, eyes still wide. Why did he do that? I don't know whether he has feelings for me, or whether he just enjoys having me in his bed. I think back to Lynn's warning about not letting someone take advantage of you before you've settled your emotions for one another. I force my eyes shut, listening to the quiet voices from the movie that still plays in the background. I pull the quilt over me more securely, but I know that it's going to take me a lifetime to fall asleep after that, surrounded and suffocated by his scent and his body heat. I try to hold back the tears of confusion, but fail miserably.

* * *

**Four + baby = me feeling broody**

**Thanks for the lovely reviews! It's nice to hear your comments and to know that people are enjoying Jaded. :)**

**I plan for the next update to be on Thursday **


	21. Four's Birthday

**A/N- I do not own the Divergent characters, rights go to Veronica Roth. **

* * *

October 15th

My mother always told me that sleep and food were to the body what petrol is to a car. We need it in order to run, and I haven't been getting much of either lately. The lack of the two factors catalyse each other, I can't eat because I'm too nauseous from lack of sleep, and I can't sleep because I'm interrupted by hunger pangs. In the mornings I take cool showers in attempts of waking myself up, and in the evenings I take steamy hot showers in attempts of encouraging drowsiness. Neither work. I live on a diet of toast and yoghurts, sipping water throughout the day to ease my sore throat.

As a result, the clockwork in my mind isn't working as quick as it should, and I'm visibly struggling to keep up at work. There seems to be a days worth of customers in the morning, and then nothing for the rest of the day, which is stressful in itself. Add insomnia to the mix, and you've got yourself a catastrophe. I'm rushing around, frantically trying to organise and fulfil people's orders whilst tapping away at the mini calculator to charge them the correct amount. Even though we've been lacking in customers lately, more people are coming before work to seek out hot beverages and filling breakfasts, since the cold mornings are approaching us.

When the crowd finally dies down, and it's time to clean up the mess of crumbs and spillages, Becky and Kyle walk out of the back with clipboards in hand, sorting out inventory. There's no doubt about the fact that Kyle is Becky's right wing man, he's who she trusts with everything, I'm positive she'd probably even trust him to run the place. The smug smile that Kyle often gives me don't bother me much anymore, since I know someone who can wipe it off his face if he ever goes too far. Becky walks over to the back of the counter, refilling the till roll in the card machine and checking the settings on the old fashioned till that doesn't even work properly. She starts fiddling with my little calculator, which is placed on the small shelf underneath the paying area, poking it and deep in thought with herself.

"Is everything alright?" I ask hesitantly.

"I think you would be able to see to customers much more quickly and effectively if you added up the orders in your head instead of on the calculator," she says.

"I'm actually quicker when I use the calculator. It means I know I'm charging them accurately and I don't need to double check myself."

"Kyle has never had a problem with working out the sums in his head," she looks at me with disdain, "yet you have made two charging mistakes since you've been here."

"I'm sorry, it's just," I try not to let anger flare over me, especially when I see Kyle peering over at us, "_difficult_ when we don't have a working till to sort out payments and discounts."

"Some time ago shop owners didn't have any form of till registers to calculate transactions, they had to do it by hand and record it in small books." _Well it is the twenty-first century. _

"So you want me to work it all out in my head?"

"Yes, please, so that you are able to work effectively. Otherwise this may not be the job for you."

May not be the job for me. The words stick in my head as I trudge home, hands scrunched in my pockets, feeling incredibly sorry for myself. What _is_ the job for me? I do not know. One thing I know for sure, I'm going to have to start searching for a new job because there's no way that I will last without an electronic device to depend on for all my mathematic needs. I want someone to understand, to tell me that everything is going to be okay. To reassure me that I have a future ahead of me, and that there is a purpose in my footsteps on this earth.

I peel my irritating work clothes away from my body as soon as I get home and reach the safe walls of my bedroom. I shove them into the hamper, feeling like I may never even bother to wear them again. Perhaps I won't. In the bathroom mirror, I notice that my eyes are rimmed in red and dark circles rest underneath them. My skin is pale and my bones are more noticeable, if I don't get sleep and a decent meal soon, I'll start to look gaunt. I decide to get another shower, just because I want to feel clean again, and I'm sick of my hair smelling like coffee and cakes. It's early afternoon, and today is Four's twenty-second birthday, so I'm going on a hike of some sort with him, Zeke and Shauna. I don't know why they want to go on a _hike_, apparently it's some sort of tradition. I have about an hour until he comes and picks me up, so I slip on my leggings and long-sleeve shirt ready, and lie down on my bed in hopes of getting a nap.

The sound of a beeping car and my phone ringing out endlessly is enough to wake me up from my slumber. I spring out of bed, smoothing my hair down and pulling on my light jacket and walking boots. Zeke and Shauna are sat in the backseat of Four's white car, so I slide into the passenger seat next to him. He gives me an odd look at first, opening his mouth to say something, but soon interrupted by Zeke and Shauna's loud greetings.

"Hey guys," I smile at them, "Happy birthday," I say to Four quietly. Things have been almost dejected between us lately, probably due to my sour mood and tiredness. Zeke and Shauna seem to be in incredibly energetic moods. They fool around, singing stupid camp songs and clapping their hands. I lean my head against the window, watching the grey city buildings whizz by and turn into lush green forestry.

Once we arrive at the large car park— which really is just an open field— we get out of the car and gather around the open trunk. There's a couple of large rucksacks, and Zeke rummages through to take out store-bought sandwiches for us all to eat before we begin our forest walk. I choose the plainest one and force it down my throat, ignoring the crusts and swallowing a gallon of water to make it go down. When we've finished eating, Zeke pulls out a large box wrapped in striped wrapping paper from under a blanket in the trunk of the car, making Four's eyebrows widen in confusion.

"How the hell did you manage to sneak that in there?" He laughs, swallowing the last bite of apple and tossing the core.

"When I told you I'd carry the rucksacks since you're the birthday boy," Zeke grins, "Happy birthday man," he hands Four the box and Shauna pats him on the back, also greeting him a happy birthday whilst handing him a card. He opens the card first, which is red with a huge "twenty-two" on the front. He eagerly tears off the wrapping paper, to reveal some kind of in-car radio system.

"You shouldn't have," he says, beaming, "this is perfect, I'll be able to play some decent music now."

"Yep," Shauna says proudly, "it's got a port for your phone too so you can play the music that you have on there."

Four thanks them both again, before returning to his spot stood next to me, leaning against the car. When Zeke and Shauna begin talking amongst themselves, I reach into the inside pocket of my jacket where I was hiding his present and slip it to him casually. He takes it from me, a grin breaking out across his face when he opens it to see the silver cufflinks he pointed out when we went into Chicago the other day. They're in the shape of a number four, except I went and got them personalised, so that the name 'Tobias' is engraved on the long side of the number. It's so tiny, you could only notice it if you looked up close. He runs his finger across it when he sees it, his grin becoming more sincere.

"Thank you," he says thickly, closing the leather box and pulling me into a hug. I sigh when I'm pressed against him, and he doesn't let go until we notice Zeke and Shauna have stopped talking and are now looking right at us, sensing the high string of emotions.

His arm is still around my waist and I still clutch a hand on his back when we decide to get moving, eager to embark on our walk before it's time to leave again. I'm also thankful that he decided against opening the card I gave him in front of Zeke and Shauna, placing it back in his car for later.

The forest is enchanting, filled with natures wonders rather than being desolate and unnerving. The weak sunlight manages to break through the gaps of the leaves on the trees, and the odd crunch of a leaf is heard beneath the soles of our feet. I can hear running water in the distance, and the rustle and bustle that signifies hidden wildlife. The colours are mainly muted brown with only hints of green, especially since Autumn is here. We walk past a photographer, bending into awkward positions in order to achieve the perfect shot. Although in this place, I'm pretty sure you could use a camera blindfolded and still somehow manage to capture the beauty.

"So, why the hiking tradition?" I ask as we traipse through the leaves and incline of the short hill.

"Four and I used to sneak off and come here when we were kids," Zeke answers, "we'd find someway to skip school and run out here on our own, looking for some kind of 'adventure'. Eventually as we got older, Shauna started tagging along too. We made loads of memories here, so now we make sure to come at least once a year, for old times sake, usually on Four's birthday."

"They pulled a little too many pranks on me," Shauna mutters, causing Zeke and Four to suppress laughter. "Hey!" she hits Zeke on the arm, "do you not know how scary it is for an eight year old to think that she's in the middle of a forest on her own?"

We continue to wander through the forest, and I listen to them all reminisce the memories that they made here. There really isn't much for me to contribute, but I don't mind since it's entertaining to hear about Four when he was younger. It turns out he was actually quite shy, yet somehow always the one with the worst luck, all the funny things happening to him. I feel a bit strange tagging along with them, since it's something they've never shared with anyone else. But, Four insisted that I join them, so here I am.

"Crap, they've cleared it," says Four. The look on Zeke's face is enough to tell me that whatever Four has noticed is bad news.

"How? We were only here last year."

"I don't know, they must have dug up the roots, which would have taken some work, but that boulder used to be surrounded by trees and now it isn't."

"Damn, you're right," Shauna looks at the cleared space as if it's something daunting. "That means that instead of following round, we've walked right into the middle of the forest, haven't we?"

"Yeah," he replies glumly, "which means we need to start heading west quickly if we want to get out of here by nightfall." _Nightfall. Darkness._ My stomach writhes at the thought. I can't even close my eyes in my bedroom without a night light at the moment. The prospect of being in a pitch-black forest is too daunting.

"Are we lost?" I try to hide the fear in my voice.

"No, no," Four says quickly and reassuringly, taking my hand in his, "it's just going to take longer to get back, a more difficult walk."

So we begin to quicken our paces, stepping over rocks and hurdles and breaking a light sweat in desperation to get back to the car park before the sunlight weakens even more. It's been about another hour and a half, and my legs ache and feel numb. My stomach feels hollow and I tremble with exhaustion, I am completely unknown as to what it is that's keeping me propelling forwards. I'm presuming adrenaline. Soon the chatter has died down, and we all just want to be done. I begin to slack, walking a few feet behind everyone else. It takes every fibre of my being to not collapse on the floor and camp out with the worms and rabbits tonight. Four keeps glancing back at me, eventually stopping in front of me and crouching down so that I can climb on his back. I'm grateful for the opportunity to rest, letting him hold onto my legs as I press my chest against his back, unable to keep myself sat upright. I lean my cheek against the back of his neck, and then…nothing.

"Tris," I hear my voice acting like an anchor, trying to bring me back. "Tris," it repeats, this time accompanied with a shake to my shoulder. I open my eyes to see Four kneeling next to me, and I'm sat on the floor against the side of the car. "We're back at the car now."

"Sorry," I mumble quickly, widening my eyes to wake up. I begin to stand, but Four pushes me back down again, causing me to frown. "Where are Zeke and Shauna?"

"They decided to get a taxi back, since they were planning on visiting Zeke's parents tonight." I hum in response, but look at him quizzically when I notice he's attempting to ask me something. "Why do you always fall asleep on me?" He says.

"Huh?" I grunt, noticing that I'm now also wearing Four's jacket as well as my own. When did that happen?

"You always seem to be tired, and you fall asleep as soon as you're off your feet."

"I don't know, maybe I'm just lazy."

"You look dog-tired."

"What's your point?" I snap.

He heaves a deep sigh, getting up and outstretching his hand for me to grab onto so I can get up from the floor. "Nothing."

"Well, I'll be sure to never rest my eyes when I'm near you again," I say as we get into the car, "since it's so much of an inconvenience to you."

The drive back home is silent and tedious, made worse by the mountain of traffic. I shuffle around in my seat, pained by the annoyance of my seatbelt and the aching in my legs. I feel my head begin to drop a few times, and I notice that Four keeps glancing at me, looking guilty as ever when he sees that I'm painfully trying to keep my eyes open. I wish it was like this when I was in my bed at home, I don't know what causes me to be tired everywhere else and wide-awake in the one place I'm supposed to be sleeping.

"Press that button next to you to put your seat back," he speaks softly. I do so, and lean back with great relief, allowing my head to roll to the side. He's driving lazily since we're in a jam, with one hand at the bottom of the wheel and his other resting on his knee. In my state of drowsiness, I reach over and clutch his spare hand, letting him run his thumb over the back of mine in small circles, until I'm relieved of the depression that my waking moments bring me.

* * *

**Thanks to those of you who left reviews for the last chapter, please continue :)**


	22. Moving On

**A/N- I don't own the Divergent characters. Rights go to Veronica Roth. **

* * *

November 1st

Four's house is filled with loud music and the fumes of fresh paint. I find him in the living room— which is covered in dust sheets and splattered paint—coating the red wall with a blank white colour. There are little white droplets and smudges on his face and bare chest, the muscles in his arms and back standing to attention when he pushes the paint roller firmly against the wall. "Decorating?" I shout over the loud music.

His head whips around, relaxing when he sees it's me. He smiles tightly, picking up a rag from the floor to wipe his hands on before turning the music off, "I didn't hear you come in," he says sounding subdued, "but yes, I've always hated this stupid red colour." He boots a paint tray out of his way in temper as he picks up the roller again, the spongey noise of paint adhering and the squeak of the roller filling the room.

"I thought red was Sarah's favourite colour? I'm surprised she's letting you paint over it."

"She doesn't live here anymore so she doesn't get a say in what colour I paint the walls," he mutters sharply. His skin looks damp with exertion, an angry blush colouring him.

"Has she moved out?" I ask hesitantly, his response is only a slight grumble and the nod of his head. "Did her and your dad split up?"

"No. They both moved out." He's not at all open for discussion, and I get the feeling that _I've_ done something wrong. My brows furrow and I bite back a remark, walking out of the claustrophobic room. A couple of minutes later, he sheepishly makes his way into the kitchen where I'm standing, leaning against the counter next to me. He mumbles some form of apology for his bad attitude, and I'm sure I just roll my eyes in response. After another few moments of us staring at the falling leaves outside the back window, he says he's "sorry" again, clearer and more sincere this time. I can see his jaw clench as he grits his teeth with annoyance, clearly bothered by something.

"Care to explain?" I nudge him gently with my shoulder. He chews on the inside of his cheek, refusing to look anywhere but straight ahead, his whole body stiff and terse and knotted. I run my hand up his back, moving over the rungs in his spine and the bumps of definition. I massage the back of his neck and shoulders with one hand, my other still holding my glass of water. He smiles appreciatively, loosening up under my touch.

"They moved to Washington," he tells me with a sigh, "Marcus said that he's always wanted to live there and only really stayed in Chicago because of me. As if it was a _hardship_ to do that. Anyway, he left me the house. He just gave it to me, _for free_, and said that since it was my mother's 'dream house' it's what she would have wanted. It was in their will, apparently I was going to get it sooner or later."

"Is it what you want?" I ask quietly, analysing his age-old 'Four' expression that barely ever gives anything away.

"I'm glad to finally be living on my own. But it's strange, being here…without a family."

"At least you don't have to save up for you own place now. I mean, it's a pretty generous gift Four," I laugh mirthlessly, but he continues to stare into the distance. I end up following him back into the living room when he walks away, watching him as he determinedly covers up the dark cherry red colour that he hates so much.

After a few moments of letting off some steam, he stops what he's doing to pick up his discarded shirt from the couch and throw it at me. "Have you got a steady hand?" He quizzes.

"I suppose, why?"

"You can help me gloss over the skirting boards." I put his paint-splattered shirt over my own, and sit next to him on the floor. Side by side, we run paintbrushes over the existing dingy dull cream colour. I like this, making something new and clean, it's satisfying. "Do you ever think about it?" He asks abruptly, breaking me out of my reverie of concentration.

"Think about what?" I say, skeptically. He doesn't answer, instead giving me a look that tells me everything I need to know. _The night that we slept together._ The night that we never talk about. The one that we buried but never forgot. My mouth turns into a small 'o' and I bite my lip in attempts of fighting the redness in my cheeks.

"Sometimes," I murmur, refusing to look at him. The bristles on our paintbrushes touch occasionally, as do our arms, sending little jolts of electricity through me and causing goosebumps to grow across my skin.

"Do you think it was a mistake?"

"No." _It wasn't._ We just shouldn't have done it so soon. But I don't regret it, because there's a fear that if we hadn't of, we wouldn't be where we are right now. It changed the dynamic between us, complicating our friendship, but for the better. However, I'm afraid. Afraid that he doesn't think the same way, afraid that he sees me as a younger sister or a play-thing at best. And I think about it all the time, after every spoken word, every glance, every touch. But now? Now it's time to move on. Which is why I ask, "If you ever met someone, would you pursue it?"

He breaks away from the wall, leaning back on his heals and wiping the back of his hand across his brow, only serving to smudge more paint across his face. "You mean, if I met a girl?" I nod my head. "No," he says simply, picking his brush back up.

"No?"

"No," he confirms, as if it's easy, as if it's uncomplicated. Something overcomes me. Giddiness, realisation, I can't quite put my finger on it.

"What does that mean for us?" _What are we?_ There's an abundant amount of questions I want to ask him. The conversation being awkward and clipped and quite frankly, long overdue. Right now, he's giving me an opportunity to talk about _us_, and I need to take it. I can't carry on being 'just friends' when it's clearly not what I want. I need more. I need all of him.

"I want us to be exclusive," he shrugs, "I'm sorry if I'm not any good at this. I don't like the formalities of going on dates and sending each other flowers and love notes. But I know that I want you, which is good enough for me."

"It's good enough for me too," I say quietly, a small shy smile etching its way onto my face. I can see him glancing at me, but I continue to act oblivious, clumsily painting with shaky hands. He leans over, kissing the top of my head as he stands up, brushing the dust from his jeans and stretching his back out. "But that doesn't mean that it should be just about _that_ either."

"Of course it's not," he laughs a little. This vexes me, partially because I'm not the most confident person and talking about things like this makes me want to curl up or turn into flames from the inside to out. When I pointedly ask him _why on earth_ he's laughing, he mutters, "you have no idea what you do to me, do you?"

I stare up at him from where I'm sat on the floor, wide-eyed and completely enraptured by him towering above me. I think my stare is an answer in itself. I do to him exactly what he does to me. Over and over again. I grin inwardly, standing up to brush a thumb across his cheekbone. "You've got paint all over your face."

That evening, I walk home looking pleased and smug. I blow the air out of my mouth, watching it turn to a visible cloud of mist in the cold, and kick the crunching leaves with my boot. My shoulders stand a little higher, my back a little straighter, and I don't look so defeated. Granted, Four and I's relationship has been more than an average friendship for a while now. We've received various stares and comments from friends, and anyone who didn't know us would presume that we were steady. But now it's confirmed. Now we know what we want from each other, and that makes everything so much easier, although it's difficult to talk about feelings. _Feelings_, even the word makes me cringe. Some girls would probably be disappointed, not being spoiled or taken out to fancy dinners and events. But not I. What Four and I have is real, and I would never give it away in hopes of getting someone more outgoing or generic. We both have our faults and flaws, but in my eyes that only makes him more perfect. When I approach my house, I see a black saloon car pulled up outside my house, the same one that's been here every so often over the past couple of weeks. There's a cloud blowing out of the exhaust, the engine rumbling, the break lights danger red. All of it is familiar, but not the person who drives it. All of my attempts of getting a look at the driver have so far failed. And it happens again, when I edge closer in hopes of seeing the mystery reflection in the wing mirror, the car speeds off. Speeds off to the point where tire tracks are made and dirt is flung in my direction. I stand there for a moment, face scrunched, thoughts turning. Of course, there's something strange about the whole thing, but what can I do about it?

Nothing. So I make my way into the house, shutting the door behind me and silently wishing that we had a couple of bolts instead of the one flimsy lock. Tonight I make an extra effort to check that all the windows are shut and locked, and check that there's no way into the back garden or whether someone could crawl through the unused cat flap or not. Stupid, I know. But I'm dreading the Masked Mystery Villain making another appearance in his blacked out vehicle.

I strip my clothing before crawling under the cool soft sheets, too tired to even get ready for bed properly. I slip my phone underneath my pillow, which is probably over-vigilant of me but I can't shake the terrible feeling of worry and dread. So I lay paralysed, hoping my insomnia will fade away so I can get a decent night's sleep.

_I see the figure come towards me, enclosing me in its darkness. I feel like I'm falling, going down down down into an abyss of nothingness. The darkness chokes me, it's snake-like hand clenching round my throat. I'm trapped and suffocated and can't breath and can't move- _

I hear a crash.

I spring up from my bed, my white sheets wrapped around my limbs, strangling them. I remain silent, the sound of my heavy pants echoing through the still bedroom. The house is so quiet in the dead of night, you could hear a pin drop. But I didn't hear a pin, I heard a crash. I'm sure of it. _Am I?_ My skin drips with cold sweat, my face burning with heat. I'm home alone, there's no one else in the house except for myself…at least I hope. Still shaken from my nightmare, I continue to stay sat frozen, unable to make my next move. Normally after a nightmare, I would perhaps lay back down and wait hours for sleep to take me again. I would pick up a book and fall asleep reading it, or read it instead of sleep, to tide me through the darkness. But tonight I've had enough. I'm tired, I'm exhausted, and I just want to _sleep_. That's all I want. To be able to escape into a dream where there are no terrors, no demons, and where I have forgotten it by the time I wake up. Not to mention the fear of earlier, be it unreasonable or not. My bottom lip starts to wobble and I feel myself letting go of reality, letting the fear overpower me.

_'__And if you're awake at 4am, you are either in love or lonely, and I don't know which one is worse.'_ I don't know which is worse. I truly don't.

I don't know why I pick up the phone and call him. Perhaps it's out of sheer desperation. Or perhaps it's because I know he already has an inkling about my tiredness and sleepless nights, he's even pointed it out. I don't care anymore. The phone nearly slips out of my hand due to the slickness of my palms, my shuddering breaths causing a fuzzy breeze like noise.

"Tris?" Four answers, his voice mumbling and thick with sleep.

"I'm sorry, did I wake you?" My voice is quiet and distant and shaken. I don't ask in the form of a question, because I already know the answer. I knew I woke him. I did it on purpose.

"What's wrong?"

"I-I shouldn't have called you, I'm sorry."

"No I'm glad you called," he mumbles again, and I can hear the creak of his bed as he turns around, "but tell me what's wrong."

"It's silly really," my voice is still choked up and it's a struggle for me to even get the words out, "I woke up and I thought I heard someone downstairs," I hear him sigh deeply, a knowing sigh.

"If I come round to your house, will you be okay going downstairs and letting me in?"

"There's a spare key under the blue plant pot."

So he tells me that he's coming right away, and I lay in bed waiting for him, stiff as a board. I want to cry at how silly and weak I'm being, how hopeless I feel. I'm weary and shaken up and alone. Very alone.

I hear a car pull up in the driveway, the engine clicking off and the doors opening and clunking shut. The scrape of the terracotta plant pot slices through the nighttime silence, I can hear it through the thin glass of my window. When Four makes his way inside, he shuffles about downstairs for a short while before coming up to join me. When he's in my room, I stare at the ceiling, riddled with mortification and simply unable to look at him. He toes his shoes off, shucking his jacket and slinging it onto my coat hook.

"Well, there's no signs of any break-ins," he says. But I keep my fixation on the ceiling. He pulls the covers away and tells me to "move over," so I slide and wiggle to the other end of the bed, making room for him. He climbs in, and already the weight of his body denting the mattress and making it dip feels reassuring. He lays towards the middle of the bed, facing me, hesitantly reaching up a hand to wipe at my forehead, moving my hair away and feeling how flushed and clammy my skin is. "What was your nightmare about?" he whispers. He knows. He knows that's the reason I called him. I'm like a child, running into their parents room at night when they dream about monsters under the bed. Although, my monsters are very much human, and come out to play instead of hiding in darkness. I turn my head, my eyes slowly scanning every inch of him. I look at his crumpled black pyjama t-shirt, the pillow crease still on his left cheek, the way his hair is tousled and soft and messy. He pulls me towards him, so that my head is pressed against his chest and I can hear the steady beat of his heart. His arms encircle me, my own personal safety net. His chest is hard and broad and flat, but for some reason more comforting than a pillow could ever be.

"I get them a lot," I mutter, fisting my hand in his shirt, a childlike gesture.

"Sleep, I'll fight them off for you," our legs inosculate, fitting together like jigsaw pieces.

"With what?" I smile.

"My bare hands."

"Thank you for doing this for me," I say after while, when I feel drowsy and my eyes sting with promised tiredness.

"I'd do anything for you," he whispers softly as my head fits snugly under his chin. _Anything_. I smile at the word.

* * *

**I can't give credit for the quote since I just came across it on the internet and have no idea who said it. **

**Thank you readers for your support. I have read each and every one of your reviews, I'm sorry if I haven't replied to all of you yet, but I greatly appreciate it. Please continue :)**


	23. Reunions & Revelations

**A/N- I do not own Divergent or the characters, rights go to Veronica Roth. **

* * *

November 10th

I wake with the sun in my eyes and Four's arm draped across my chest. At first, when I lean up and glance out of the uncovered bedroom window, I see white rooftops and instantly think 'snow'. But then I crawl out of bed properly to discover it's just the morning frost, coating branches and blades of grass with a light sheen of crystal white. My breath fogs up the glass on the window, causing a blurred circle which I wipe away with the sleeve of my pyjama top. The blue sky is clear and pale, the winter sun a weaker yellow, hanging low in the horizon. The birds sing, alerting the promise of a new day, as people like me rise out of their beds and face the cold. "-time is it?" Four mumbles sleepily, his sentence half-hearted and hibernated.

"Seven-thirty," I say, from where I'm sat on my window seat. I've slept next to Four in my bed most nights since I rang him, an unspoken agreement between the two of us. Even though he takes up the majority of my smaller bed, there's something oddly comforting about being bone-crushingly close to him, pressed up against the edge of the bed with only the strength and embrace of his arm to stop me from falling out.

"I need to get ready and go to work," he scrubs his face with the palms of his hands, gingerly pulling the quilt off himself to sit on the edge of the bed. His hair sticks up in all different directions, his facial scruff in need of neatening up. He quickly removes his bed clothes in favour of pulling on the outfit he wore yesterday, so that he can go home and get ready properly. I think idly do myself, how long is this going to go on for? Every morning he sneaks out before my mother either wakes or returns home from work, only to come back later donning a clean set of clothes. I don't know why I have kept what's between me and Four away from my mother. Perhaps it's because our relationship is something personal to me, and I want to keep it that way, or perhaps there's some other reason. "I'll see you soon," he kisses my cheek and I follow him down the stairs, holding the front door open as I watch him drive off. Just as his car is out of sight, my mother pulls up in the driveway. A close call.

"What are you doing?" She asks me quizzically when she steps out of the vehicle, her eyes scanning over my appearance suspiciously.

"I was trying to see if the paper had been delivered yet."

"I never knew you read the paper," her voice is skeptical and so are her actions, she loiters around me after I shut the door behind her. "You smell different."

"Well I took a shower last night," I grumble, making a show of sniffing under my arms and my hair.

"Not in a bad way, just…different," she corrects, "so does your room."

"What point are you trying to make?"

"Nothing," she sighs, scratching the back of her neck and traipsing off into the kitchen. "Anyway, you need to be at Aunt Cecilia's by ten o'clock today, don't be late or she'll start to get worried."

"How long do I have to spend there?" I whine, my shoulders and neck slumped backwards in annoyance. Since the whole charade with the calculators and my poor maths skills at the bakery, I have since quit that job, and now my mother has me doing housework at an elderly family friend's house. She can't do cleaning anymore and prefers to have someone there whom she knows, rather than a stranger from a cleaning company. She pays me in the form of tokens and sweets and shopping cards.

"Not long, only a couple of hours. She told me that she went out and bought you a gift basket of shampoos and makeup and other toiletries." I smile slightly at this. Even though I'll never admit it, there's something nice about receiving gifts rather than being handed cash. It's a true sign of appreciation.

After a few hours spent cleaning Cecilia's, my back aches and my head bangs after her constant chatter. The clouds are beginning to blanket the once clear sky, and the threat of rain is apparent. My mother's car is still parked in the driveway, but the house is silent when I enter. "Mom?" I call out, achieving zero response. "Mom?" I shout again, running into the kitchen and switching off the stove, where the pan of vegetables has boiled over. She's not in the back garden, or anywhere downstairs, so I trudge up the steps, to see the light turned on in my room. "_Mom?_" I prompt for a final time. My concern vanishes and outrage replaces it, when I see that my bedroom is in tatters. My sheets are ripped from the bed, and now covered with the contents of my bookshelves. The pages of my books are skewed and bent, my money box spilled over the mattress. Every single cupboard and drawer is open, my belongings strewn across the floor. My mother is sat in the midst of it all, on the floor, a crumbled heap of hospital clothing and blonde wiry hair. "_Mom_, what the hell?!" I exclaim, my eyes darting around the war zone that used to resemble my room. She clutches a piece of paper in her hands, refusing to look up at me. Her head is shaking slightly and she's muttering something completely unintelligible. For a moment, I believe she is crazed. But then, when I walk up to her and see the letter from the police station in her hands, I know that she is just angered and disappointed. _She's finally found out._

"Everything I've ever done has only been to help you," her voice is quiet and deflated. "Yet this is how you repay me? Lies and deception and a complete disregard for trust and honesty?" She adds bitterly, shaking one of Four's t-shirts in the air.

"Give me that," I snatch the t-shirt from her grip and clutch it to my chest.

"Who does it belong to?" I mutter his name, and she acknowledges the revelation as if she already knew. "I suspected someone was staying over here at night, I just never understood why you didn't tell me," she says. "Why do you keep things from me Beatrice?" I shrug in response, my back leant against the wall, my eyes trained on my untied shoelaces. "Is it because you think I would ruin it? Like how you think I ruined yours and your father's relationship?" I don't answer. I giver her eye contact, and that is enough. She exhales loudly, disbelieving and annoyed. "And what about your _arrest_? Why wouldn't you tell me something like that?"

"Isn't it obvious?" I shriek, annoyed, "it's what most kids do. They hide things from their parents because they don't want to get in trouble!"

"But you're not a _child_ anymore Beatrice. If you're grown enough to have a man in your bed, then you're grown enough to speak the truth." I stare at her in shock. A part of me has matured, but I still have ways to go. "I'm disappointed in you," she continues, "and I'm sure your father would be too."

"How would you know what my father would think of me?" I snap. She doesn't respond, instead, reaching down into her pocket to retrieve a thick rectangular envelope. She hands it to me, unsteadily, and I cautiously take it from her grip. "What's this?"

"Something I should have given you long ago," she stands up, causing the clothes and papers that were draped across her lap to fall. She exits the room in silence, leaving me standing here with the wadded envelope. I tear it open as I make my way over to sit down on my bed, only for the cash green that signifies money to flutter out. The envelope is filled with it, tonnes of hundred dollar bills. Inside, is a handwritten note folded in half. _How did she get this? How long has she had it?_ A million questions circle around in my mind, to the point where the note with his address on and the words: "Call if you need anything" almost go unnoticed. I pick up the piece of paper, recognising that the address isn't that far from Chicago. _It's my dad_. And I want to see him. I leap up unsteadily, stuffing the money and the note in my jacket pocket, then pulling my boots on. I race down the stairs, heart thrumming, stomach leaping. "Beatrice! Where are you going?" My mother shouts.

"To find my family!" I call back, voice harsh and unforgiving.

"Don't you do that," she warns frantically, "he's not who you think!"

"And what's that supposed to mean?"

"You don't even know him. You haven't seen him since you were six years old, to you, he's just a distant memory. A figment of your imagination. You don't love him. You love the _idea_ of him."

"Is that so bad?"

"Yes. Because I know him. And I know he-"

"_Shut up!_ You can't keep doing this to me. I won't let you," I shake my head defiantly, already opening the front of the door to head out. Before I step into the wind and the rain, I turn my head slightly to utter a few last words to her, "you're just afraid that I'll end up loving him more than you. And your fears aren't wrong."

The ear-rattling noise of the door slamming still rings through my head as I now stand in front of unfamiliar territory, supposedly my father's house. However, what _isn't _unfamiliar is the black saloon car in the driveway. The same car that I've seen parked up outside my house on numerous occasions. I took an hour-long bus ride in order to get here, and I have no idea what to expect. It's a small house, even smaller than ours, and not something that I would expect. The garden is basic, lawn over-mowed with no interesting plants or flowers. The paint is chipping, and I have to jam the doorbell hard in order for it to work, the plastic making a cracking noise. I hear shuffling and banging from behind the door, until is springs open and a gaunt confused figure stands before me. "Beatrice," he sighs.

"Dad?" I take in his appearance: unkempt and lousy. His bed shirt is a faded white colour, teamed with creased pyjama pants and a striped dingy bathrobe thrown over the top. He looks like he needs a good shower, his hair thin and brittle.

"That's me, I guess," he chuckles weakly, "what do you want?"

The question catches me off guard, because the truth his, I have no idea what I want. "Can I come in?" I ask hesitantly, peering over his shoulder to get a look inside. He purses his lips for a moment, before opening the door wider and standing aside. I walk in, lead straight into the living room due to the open plan of the house. It's basic, letters and paperwork scattered across the coffee table along with used mugs and plates.

"Sorry," he says, rushing in front of me to pick up the mess, "my cleaner Marie was off sick today," he carries them into the kitchen whilst shouting for me to "sit down on the couch!"

I brush the crumbs away from the seat before sitting on the edge, the nervousness in my stomach growing and becoming exceedingly uncomfortable. There's a frame on the coffee table, with a picture of a man who looks uncannily like my mother. "Is this Caleb?" I brush my finger over his face. He's tall, slim and shaggy-haired.

"It is," he nods, sitting down on the other end of the couch.

"He's grown up," I smile, "what's he doing now?"

"He's off doing his own thing, not really interested in the family. He's Mr. Big Shot at college," he says in a teasing tone, seemingly making fun of his own son. "Did you not want to go?"

"No, college wasn't for me."

"Ah, well, it's good to know at least one of my kids isn't a pretentious asshole," he sighs with great relief, and I stare at him in shock, his words unnerving and careless.

"I wasn't deemed smart enough to go to college."

"You were smart enough to recognise my address on the note and make your own way over here, so that's good enough for me," he laughs. "So, what do you want?"

"I just wanted to see you."

"And here I am," he gestures to his body, raising his eyebrow. "Do you need money?"

"No," I frown. "You're my dad so I wanted to see you, is there something wrong with that?"

"Technically yes I am your father," he sighs looking annoyed, "but I don't have much else to offer you other than that."

"What about your time? What about your affection?"

"Beatrice-"

"It's Tris," I say sharply.

"_Tris,_ I don't know what delusion you're operating under, but you live with your mother for a reason. That was the agreement, I gave her money and she raised you."

"But I don't understand-"

"Look at me. I mean, _really look at me_. Do you think I'm stable enough to be there for you, emotionally? Do you think I'd be a good father after the way I treated your mother? After the way I palmed Caleb off to be looked after by a few nannies?" _I have no idea._ My mother was right, I don't know what he's like. I don't know what his emotional state is or what his parenting abilities are like. I don't know him. "I have money, and I can give you that. But that's all."

"I don't want your money," I say numbly, taking the now creased and crumbled notes out of my pocket and placing them on the cluttered coffee table.

"Just hear me out. I've already proved myself a terrible family man... I had an affair for years behind your mom's back, I worked all the time, I was depressed and hopeless and downright useless."

"It was you?" My voice quavering, "not mom?"

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm sorry. I have to leave." I stand up from the couch, stepping over his outstretched legs in order to head for the door. He grabs onto my wrist but I pull away. "Please don't follow me in your car anymore," I say weakly.

"I was just checking up on you."

"Well clearly, I don't need you to."

I storm out of the house, my feet slapping against the wet puddled pavement. Silent tears streak my face as I keep on walking, walking away from him. My mother was trying to protect me from this man, and I went out there and let him hurt me anyway. I sniffle and shuffle my way through the park gates, venturing to a more secluded area where I sit down on a tattered bench. I pull my hood up and stuff my hands in my pockets, trying to shield myself from the cold. Betrayal and hurt is burned into my flesh, a confused and guilt-riddled feeling overcoming me. No, I'm not betrayed or hurt by my useless father, I'm sick at the fact that _I_ betrayed my mother. I treated her like a villain in my own home, for my own deluded reasons. I never trusted her, I never listened to her, and that hurts. I don't know how long I stay here, mulling over my thoughts, but a dark blanket of night has covered the cloudy sky, and the light rainfall has turned into a pouring wet shower. I soon come to my senses and realise that I shouldn't be in a park on my own at night, lifting myself up from the bench and heading towards the bus stop. The wind blows my hood off, the rain dampening and matting my hair, little droplets running down the curvature of my face and onto my lips.

The bus ride is tedious and uncomfortable. The cold has bitten right down to the bone now that my clothes are soaked, and I sit on the seat shivering like a lunatic. I nearly miss my stop when it comes to it, the windows fogged up so much with condensation that you can barely see out. A storm has arrived, causing thunder and lightening and prompting me to walk in the middle of the empty road to avoid any trees. Over the sound of my thoughts, I can barely hear the deep rumble and bang that echoes through the sky. There are two cars parked in the driveway, the white sports car and the battered family one. It also takes me a while to undo the lock, my hands wet and cold and weak and slippery. Even though warm indoor air hits me instantly, my body still quivers and shakes a ridiculous amount. I struggle to peel off my soaked jacket, practically unable to do it.

"Beatrice? Is that you?" My mother's voice calls out, riddled with concern, as she charges out of the kitchen with Four as a lackey by her side. I look into his midnight eyes, which are consumed with worry.

"Who else," I murmur, pulling myself up the staircase. However I only get halfway up before I sit down, head in hands, back against the spindles.

"Where did you go? We've been looking all over! You were gone for hours so I rang your father and even he didn't know where you were," she babbles, as Four walks up the stairs to sit next to me, a supportive arm slinging across my shoulders.

"You were right about him," I say plainly. "And I'm sorry," my voice cracks. She gives me a look I cannot explain, a mixture of anger and sorrow, her eyes wide and beady. She too climbs up the stairs, sitting a couple of steps below me.

"You don't need to apologise, ever," she whispers, her hand on my knee.

We sit there, the three of us. Four's head resting on top of mine, his arms clamped around me. I bury my face against his chest, trying to hide away and become consumed by him instead. My mothers head rests on my lap, her arms slung around my middle. This is love. I ran away from it, in search of something else, but I was wrong. _I am loved,_ and I have everything I need right here. For that, I am grateful.

* * *

**Again, thank you for taking the time to write reviews! I have read them all, and as always, I appreciate it :)**


	24. Lovers

**A/N- I do not own Divergent, right go to Veronica Roth. **

**Sorry if I'm updating this at an awkward time, but it's going to be really difficult to update during the next couple of weeks. I'm going to be seriously busy over Christmas and New Year (as I'm sure most of you will be). I didn't want to leave you with nothing, so here's the next chapter now :) You can expect the next chapter either just before or after the new year. **

* * *

November 23rd

|'m slowly forgetting what it's like to sleep alone. My mother doesn't question it, although in the kitchen one morning she made a pointed remark about "no fooling around while I'm in the house," which caused both mine and Four's cheeks to turn a bright shade of pink. Since that mortifying day, we've kept to our own sides of the bed.

Now, I stand in front of Lynn's front door, anticipation and nervousness flooding my veins. "You look different," she says when she opens the door for me.

"Nice to see you too," I reply, walking past her and rolling my eyes. "You've been out of prison, what, an hour? And the first thing you do is comment on my appearance?"

"Are those highlights?" She picks at a strand of my hair, but I bat her hand away. "Sorry! It's not only the hair…I don't know. You just seem different."

"Well it _has_ been nearly three months. That's a quarter of a year."

"I suppose. Anyway, come inside, I'm just sitting in my room."

"First day out of prison and you're sat in your room, why am I not surprised?"

"Because I'm on house arrest, all I'm allowed to do is sit in my room."

"Not true, you could sit in the living room, or the kitchen, or the-"

"You certainly had your coffee this morning, didn't you?" She snaps, face wild and bedraggled. I purse my lips, silently following her up the staircase and into her bedroom which hasn't changed _at all_ since we last sat in here in the summer. She plonks down onto her bed, hands covering her face. "This is too weird," she sighs.

"I can only imagine," I take a seat next to her at the edge of the bed.

"One minute I'm laying on my bunk, the next I'm back at home. My parents are already acting like normal again. It's a bit of a shock to the system."

"Why did they let you out early?"

"Good behaviour," she shrugs, "It's only a week early though, I think they did it so they didn't have to start off my new paperwork for next month or something. Saves them the hassle."

"And how long have you got to stay in the house for?"

"One whole year."

"Whew," I breath out.

"I know, it's going to break me more than prison did." She looks exhausted, her hair blunt and brittle. She wears grey sweat pants with a matching jumper, and smells like eggs and soap. She shows me the bulky and obtrusive tag which is strapped around her right ankle, which will apparently sound an alarm if she walks onto the street. Her parents bought her a treadmill so that she can do some indoor exercise, but I doubt she'll be using it. "To make it worse, I feel super paranoid, like as though they're watching me still or something."

"Well they're not. You're here at home, your home. Where you've grown up. Yeah, its pretty shitty not being able to go outside, but _thank God_ you're not in prison surrounded by other criminals and living off a diet of weak tea and tasteless food…if you can even call it that."

"You're right," she smiles, holding out her hand for me to hold, "hey, I really have missed you."

"I've missed you too," I say by default, be it the truth or not.

"On the upside, at least I have you to bring me snacks and dvd's and to keep me company," I laugh lightly, twiddling her fingers, "no, _seriously_. I'm going to have nothing to do, and you don't work at the bakery anymore, so we can spend our days together. Heck, you can even move in if you want."

"I'm looking for another job."

"Sack it for a year, I'll give you some of the money I get because I'm not allowed to work. I'm only going to spend it on snacks anyway."

"I can't do that," I say quietly, knowing that she doesn't understand how much my life has changed. Lynn isn't my priority anymore, and it would kill her if she knew. "You know what my mom's like."

She pouts her bottom lip, but eventually gives in — or in other words, rolls her eyes — and sparks up a conversation about all the funny things she eavesdropped in prison. After only an hour of talking, the hour on my phone indicates that it's time to leave, and I know she's not going to like it. "Why do you have to go?" She says sharply, and I feel constricted by her already, like a snake wrapping around my neck.

"Because I'm seeing Four."

"Four?"

"Four."

"Why?"

"Why do you think?"

"Is he your boyfriend?"

"Well," I haven't really applied a label to him yet. And I haven't had to, since we've been living in our own little world where no one else exists for the past two weeks, "I suppose that's the word for it."

After a sufficient amount of huffing and puffing, she eventually lets me leave, but only with the promise that I'll come back and visit her tomorrow. I reluctantly agreed, warning her that I wasn't promising anything. I now walk though the cold air, on my way to Four's desolate house. He went there to organise some things and do a bit of housework, since he's been neglecting it to stay with me instead. He's even thrown dust sheets over the furniture in the spare bedrooms, since they'll go untouched indefinitely and he doesn't want the hassle of dusting every week. The garden is also looking a little worse for wear, its lawn overgrown and the rose bushes out of shape. The door is open, so I let myself into the silent building. The floorboards squeak underneath my feet, and I have to step over various paint pots and decorating items in order to make my way into the kitchen. Four's stood in there, elbows leaning against the counter, staring out of the back window and into the distance. "Hey," I murmur, standing next to him and rubbing my hand up and down his back. He offers me a small smile, but that's about it. I don't spoil the silence, choosing instead to glance over him. I probably stare at him more than I should, but it can't be helped.

"This is more stressful than I thought," he eventually sighs. I look around the kitchen, papers and bills spread out across the table, laundry piled high in front of the washing machine.

"I told you I'd show you how to wash your clothes properly: separate the whites and the colours, take your suits to the dry cleaners. It's not as if you have any delicates or anything-"

"I'm not talking about fucking _laundry_ Tris," he bellows harshly. I step back out of instinct, startled by his tone, eyes wide but not with fear. "I'm sorry," he mutters quickly, attempting to circle his arms around me.

"Piss off," I press my hands against his chest and push him away, angered and baffled by he temper _yet again._ I shuffle away from him to the other end of the counter, crossing my arms defiantly and staring determinedly at the wall. "I'm sick of your stupid attitude."

Whenever 'Intimidating Four' makes an appearance, I've learned to put him in his place. So we stand in silence, noticing in my peripheral vision how he refuses to look away from me. There's bad air between us, and it's going to take one hell of an electric saw to cut through it. That, or just my complete and utter adoration for him. Timidly, he edges closer to me, until there's about six inches between us. I continue to stare at the wall. I can hear his breaths, deep and calming and _oh so appealing._ You know you've fallen hard when even the way the person breathes becomes attractive to you. He precariously begins to run the back of his index finger up and down along the skin of my arm. When I don't object to the contact, he moves his hand so that it rests on my stomach, his thumb moving in circles. He then slides his hand further along, until it sits on my ribs below my breast and his thumb is moving firmer along the spot where _he knows_ I'm ticklish. My face is contorted with held-in laughter, prompting him to smile widely and me to allow a small breathy laugh slip though. He takes this as his cue to press even closer against me, cupping one side of my face with his hand and turning me to look at him.

"I _am_ sorry," he says, "I didn't mean to take it out on you. It's not fair."

"You're right, it's not fair. I'm only trying to help you."

"I know you are. But looking after this big house and sorting everything out is stressful, I don't know if I can handle it yet."

"You don't have to stay with me at night, you know," I say quietly, "if there are other things that you need to be doing here."

"I know I don't have to," _I want to_, I fill in the blanks for him since I know he's not good with words. He pulls me closer against his chest, and this time, instead of stiffening up against his touch, I sink into it.

"I don't like knocking around in this big house on my own."

"Most people get a pet dog or a cat when they're lonely."

I look up at him to see him bite back a remark, chewing on the inside of his cheek. Eventually, he whispers, "I guess we're not like most people then."

"Do you_ have_ _to_ live here?" I question, "I mean, it's a pretty big house, wouldn't you be better off in an apartment or something?"

"That's just the problem though, isn't it. Of course I don't want to live here. I really do feel like I have to."

"Why?"

"Because," he sighs, "remember what my father said about it being my mother's 'dream house'. If I sold it, I'd feel like I was selling the last memory I have of her. But at the same time, being here, I feel like I need to get away from the memory. Like it's just a reminder of the fact that I lost her and how unfair it is. Being here without a family is depressing and isolating."

"What if you wanted a family one day? Wouldn't you use it then?"

"I don't even think I would want to raise my own family here. I'd want a fresh start."

"Well then, I think you already know what you need to do."

At this, Four seems to get upset, because it's the hard truth. He's going to have to let go of his family home because it's tying him down and it just isn't convenient. I wish I could sit with him, murmuring reassuring things to him like: "it's what you mother would want," and, "she would only want to see you happy," but it's no use. Those kinds of things don't help Four, they don't make him feel better. Because he knows the facts. His mother _isn't here_, and we _don't know_ if it's what she would want, and we _don't know_ whether she can even see him to know whether he's happy or not. He grumbles something about going to get a shower, and swiftly jogs up the stairs.

After a short while of just standing here, I still haven't heard the shower turn on. So, I decide to follow him. He's not in the shower, he's still fully clothed, sitting on the edge of his bed with his head in his hands. I lean my shoulder against the door frame, examining him. The bones at the back of his neck form ripples on his tanned skin, travelling downwards and disappearing under the black cotton of his t-shirt. The brown hair at the nape of his neck curls round and under, sticking out a little, and more grown out than he's ever let it get. The muscles in his arm ripple when he drags one of his palms over the back of his neck and then his cheek, as if he's manually wiping away the tension. When his arms are slumped in his lap, he looks up at me, wonder and thoughtfulness in his eyes. I reciprocate the look he's giving me, not moving an inch. He leans back, supported by the heels of his hands on the mattress, continuing to stare me, his eyes slowly skimming up and down. I break away from where I'm leant against the doorway, and cautiously walk up to him. I stand in between his parted legs, my hands resting on his shoulders to stop them from trembling. Like always, he grounds me. He sits up straighter, planting his hands on my hips and sliding them under the hem of my blouse. I straddle him, sitting on his lap with my legs bent either side, my knees causing a bigger dip in the mattress. I see him swallow thickly, hands squeezing the flesh of my hips tighter. Starting at where the first couple of my buttons are undone, he lightly runs his bottom lip along the smooth bare skin under my collar bone, dragging it upwards along my throat and under my chin. The dampness and heat of his breath causes my heart rate to quicken and a sigh to escape my lips. I tilt my head down in order to press my open mouth to his, instantly forming a deep and needy kiss. We continue to do so, slow and deep and satisfying. Our touches explore rather than grab. It's patient and honest and I feel as though this is the most intimate we have ever been. Although we've seen, felt and caressed every inch of each other, there's nothing quite like exposing your emotions and deepest and darkest thoughts. We're still learning how our bodies fit together, learning what feels good and what the other person likes.

He wastes no time in smoothing his hands up my body, undoing the buttons of my blouse and, with my help, dragging it off down my shoulders. I reach back to unhook my bra, pulling it down impatiently. He grips the hem of his shirt, and together, we pull it up over his head. His hand resumes its position splayed across my back, pressing me closer so that our now-naked chests touch. He buries his face in the crook of my neck, his love bites sending shivers down my spine, my hands warming up against his flesh. I move them around to the front of his chest, running them up and down slowly before pressing him down on the bed. I lean over him on all fours with my arms and legs bookending him, and my smile is mischievous when he glances over my body again. His feet are still firmly on the floor as his legs hang off the bed, and he kicks off his shoes whilst I unbuckle his belt. He drags his jeans down, kicking them off onto the floor before bringing his feet up onto the mattress. He grips a hand onto my behind and shuffles backwards, pushing us further up the bed so that he can lie down properly. I roll onto my back next to him, lifting my hips in order to rid myself of my own jeans and toss them onto the floor with the rest of our discarded clothing. He shifts over so that now he's above me, held up by one bent arm, his other free to roam me. I cup his face with my hand, my fingers reaching to the back of his neck and my thumb moving soothingly along his cheekbone. We continue the embrace of our lips, our tongues gliding along each other, our deep breaths mixing. His knee separates my legs so that he can rest between them, and I feel him hard and wanting. It does nothing to ease the dull wet ache that's forming there. He groans, guttural, when I lift my hips to meet his and move one leg to wrap around his thigh. When he reaches over to open his bedside drawer, I stop him, clasping his hand and placing it on my chest instead.

"I'm on the pill," I murmur, "so if it's okay with you…"

"That's fine," he says, continuing his assault on my neck with his lips and teeth, moving across my collar bone and chest to the point where I know I'll have bruises tomorrow _but right now it feels good and that's all that matters._ I can feel his heart beating in his chest, thrumming at the same heightened speed as my own

"Hey," I whisper, prompting him to look at me, "we can be a family now."

A smile grows on his face, small and honest in a way that only he can be, "you and me. We don't need anyone else," he whispers back, bumping his nose against mine. He closes his eyes, continuing to run his nose against the outer side of my cheek lightly, his lips barely touching my skin. "You and me. We're gonna' be alright," he reiterates, voice deep and husky. _Yes we are._ As long as we have each other. He removes the last scraps of clothing that separate us, and pulls the sheet up to cover us halfway. We don't bother to tease each other first because that's not what we want right now. We need each other, need to be one, need to be whole. And we are. My head tips back, mouth open, a low moan escaping my lips. The creak of the mattress is minimal compared to the sound of our heavy breaths and murmured sweet nothings. And that's exactly what they are: nothing. Sweet and sensual and seductive without actually mounting to any purpose or point. Our cries are only quiet, but _we_ can hear them, and that's all that matters. We sound quite desperate in a way, but that's only because life has tried to damage us, and now we're fighting back. When he leans up higher and moves faster, my hand grips onto the top of the headboard behind me. My eyes scrunch shut and no sound escapes my mouth when I feel myself getting there, but I let it all out upon release. After that, nothing is really coherent until I hear my name rush past his lips a few times, him collapsing half-on half-off me after he comes.

I cradle his head against my bare chest, carding my fingers through his damp hair. His breaths are rapid against my skin, and his eyelashes tickle me as he blinks.

"That was," he pants, unable to speak.

"Yeah," I breathe, nodding my head and feeling his lips turn up in a smile.

* * *

**I hope you all have an absolutely wonderful Christmas and New Year :) **

**Thanks for all your support and leaving reviews, please continue!**


	25. Change

**A/N- I don't own the Divergent characters, they belong to Veronica Roth. **

**So I managed to finish off this chapter and update it after a break from all the Christmas madness! I hope those of you who celebrate it had a wonderful time. I'm hoping the next update will be just after New Years day, then after all that I should resume my normal updating schedule. **

* * *

December 7th

The get-together at Four's new apartment is only small, a few close friends, is what he wanted. Of course, Zeke and Shauna tried to gode him into having a colossal early Christmas party, but he told— no, _warned_— people that he didn't want any strangers coming here. Not to mention the fact that he doesn't want the place to get trashed. "Where's the main man?" Zeke asks me, walking into the high-speck kitchen and popping the top on another beer.

"He's held back at work. Shouldn't be long though, half an hour tops," I say.

"Alright then. Do you know how to work his speakers? Never seen anything so complicated in my life. There's about three different remote controls!"

"Yeah," I laugh, "I'll show you." Four's apartment is filled with the latest boy-gadgets and state of the art technology, who knew he was such a nerd? It's modern, nice-sized, and recently decorated and furnished. The decor is all blacks and greys and browns, with minimalistic furniture. You can tell it's a bachelor pad, with most of the furnishings being leather and glass and bold statement-like. After a lot of humming and ah-ing, Four and Marcus finally figured out the situation with the family house. Four decided he definitely didn't want to live in it anymore, so they put it up for sale. For the meantime, Marcus gave Four the money that the house is worth, so that he could move out and buy his own apartment. Honestly, I'm not a mathematician and it's all a little complicated, but they somehow worked it out.

Zeke finally gets the music going, and things are starting to liven up. We all sit in his main living area, snacks scattered across the black glass coffee table, football playing in the background. After a while though, I get a headache. I don't know whether it's because I'm coming down with something or if it's due to the fact that I'm still not a social butterfly, and being here on my own with Four's friends is a lot of _pressure_. Eventually, when my head feels as though it's about to implode, I excuse myself to the bathroom, but end up going to his bedroom instead and lying down on the cool clean sheets. It doesn't take long before my eyelids become heavy.

"Where's Tris?" I hear through the haze of sleep.

"I think she went to lie down, she didn't look too good."

My eyes open to form thin slits, met with the sight of Four squeezing through the partially opened door, then shutting it closed behind him. He's wearing a long black wool coat, the reminiscence of snow still on his shoulders, carrying a large brown shopping bag. He jumps onto the bed next to me, the bag now on his lap. My body jolts with the movement of the mattress and I roll towards him. I can't help the small grin that creeps across my face when he kisses my forehead. "What's wrong?" He asks me, brushing hair away from my face.

"Nothing. I had a headache but it's gone now."

"Good," I can hear the smile in his voice.

"What are you beaming at?" I crack an eye open fully to examine him. He sits up and leans forwards, dragging the coat off his shoulders and throwing it onto the floor.

"Santa came early this year," he says nonchalantly, placing the brown bag between us. I raise an eyebrow questioningly, unable to help the way that I excitedly sit up next to him and lean against the pillows. "Have a look," he laughs, edging the department store bag further towards me. I pull it open, and inside, are neatly folded up clothes.

"Really?"

"Just look," he says.

So I do, taking out the items. There are a few pairs of jeans, shirts and one dress. All beautiful and designer and fancy and _by far_ more expensive than anything I've ever owned before. "Four, you shouldn't have," I sigh.

"Why not?"

"I bet they were expensive."

"Not too bad, plus I got that promotion yesterday, remember? And, you told me your clothes were too tight."

"Yes, but that doesn't mean that I should just get new ones. My own membership for the gym would have sufficed."

"Are you serious?" He says, completely and utterly bewildered, "you actually think that it's more logical to change your body than to change your clothes?"

"I was fine with how I looked before," I mutter, staring down at my knotted fingers, the new clothes scattered across my lap.

"_No you weren't._ You were tired and worn out and not even eating properly." He rolls onto his side, propped up with one arm, "you feel better now. That's the most important thing here."

"Thank you," I whisper, "for the clothes."

"You're welcome. I didn't pick out this stuff on my own by the way; I'm not a secret fashionista," he chuckles, "I had a personal shopper who told me what girls your age wear and she guessed what size you'd be. So, you can take them back if they don't fit or if you don't like them-"

"No," I cut him off with a light kiss to his lips, "I absolutely love them."

"Try them on for me," he mumbles against my neck, lips touching and caressing every bit of skin they can find.

"Now?"

"Please," he nuzzles me, peppering slow kisses along my collarbone. I stiffen up, chewing my lip bloody. "Take off your clothes," he says.

"No."

"Why won't you let me see you naked anymore?" He pulls away, his voice with a hint of a whine to it. Until now, he hasn't complained about the way I've started to go into the bathroom to get changed, about the way I pull the sheets up around us and ask him to turn the lights off when we have sex. He didn't even complain the other night when we slept together and I refused to take his T-shirt off, even when he desperately wanted to be skin against skin with me.

"Because _I've changed_ and I told you: I don't like it."

"Don't be silly Tris," he huffs frustratedly. "I like the way you look. Perhaps I should say it more often than I do."

"Even if my ass is getting fat?"

"_Especially_ because your ass is getting fat," he grins, "and these," he squeezes a hand over my chest, causing me to squirm and push him away. "I'm joking, I'm joking. You're still tiny. You just don't see it."

"I suppose I'll have to take your word for it then."

"I suppose you will," he smiles. "Try this on, it's the only thing I picked out myself." He hands me the dress, and I heave myself off the bed, scurrying off to get dressed in the closet without his prying eyes looking over me. I strip off my jeans and shirt, carefully pulling the dress over my body. It's without a doubt the most stunning thing I've ever worn, and fits me like a glove. It's tight but not too tight, ending mid-thigh length and the top resting just underneath my collar bone. It's a lovely deep purple colour, but covered with intricate gold beading. Because of this, it feels heavy and glamorous and something I would a movie star to wear on the red carpet. I step out of the closet slowly, Four still lying on the bed waiting for me.

"Well shit," he says in awe, eyebrows raising upwards. "I didn't think this through. Now I'm going to have to fight dozens more guys off you whenever I take you out."

"You like it?" I say shyly, turning around so he can see the way the back swoops down a little bit, exposing the top half of my back.

"I have no words," he opens his arms, hands gesturing for me to walk over to him. I sit on the edge of the bed, but he hooks an arm under my legs and lifts me over his body so that I lay down adjacent to him. I let out a small laugh, cupping his face with my hands and moulding my lips with his. All the while, we're being mindful about the fact that we're not the only people in his apartment. I remind myself that we're actually supposed to be entertaining his friends who are sat in the other room down the hall. But when he trails a hand up my thigh and kisses me like he never wants to stop, that fact is soon forgotten. At first, when he moves his fingers in small circles over my clothing, it's easy to stay silent. My breathes are only barely noticeable. He's on his side, facing me, one of his arms below my pillow and under my neck. _We shouldn't be doing this right now. _Not when someone could so easily interrupt. But that doesn't stop us. When my breaths quicken up, he tugs my dress up so that it's bunched around my waist and pulls my underwear down. I kick them off fully, allowing them to get lost under the covers somewhere.

"I don't want to ruin the dress," I murmur. He nods, lifting me up away from the bed so that he can pull it up over my head. Instead of throwing it on the floor like we normally do with our clothes, he leans over and drapes it across the chair that sits near the bed. He rolls back over, his fingertips gently running up the length of my legs, eventually going further. I turn my head into his chest, the fact that I can't be loud making the tease even more intense. He's slow, and it still makes me wriggle and write. One of my legs bend up, foot resting flat on the mattress, my hips moving on their own accord. I moan quietly, my face scrunching up.

"Shh," he whispers, covering his mouth with mine in attempts of muffling the noise. I pant, face contorted, fingers gripping onto anything they can. It's only ever this good when he does it, his strong hand and the warmth of his body next to mine just another sensation that tips me over the edge. When I get impossibly closer and closer, my mouth starts to go wide and we both know what's coming. "Tris, be quiet," he quickly reminds me, just as I'm about to lose all sense and reason. I move my hand up to my mouth, biting on my skin and sliding down on the bed as I contract and release. I lie there, sheets tangled around me, loose limbed and sated. He pulls his hand away, kissing me on my forehead and down my cheek.

"You next," I say breathlessly, rolling over and pushing his shirt up to expose his abdomen.

"Are you sure you've recovered enough after that?" He smirks.

"Your ego just skyrocketed even more, and I didn't think that was possible."

He's about to say something, but it turns into a groan when press my palm against him. There's something oddly powerful about this, having complete control over someones senses. I fumble at his belt, pulling his jeans and grey boxers down only half way. This isn't unexplored territory for me, even before I knew Four, but practice makes it perfect, and I'm getting to know what he likes every time we do it. It helps that we communicate, since like they say: it takes two to tango. After a while of alternating between different techniques, his hips are writhing like mine were earlier, and a small smug smile etches onto my face at that. At one point, we think we hear someone come up the stairs, and have to pause momentarily. Me completely under the covers, him listening out until we think it's safe to go again. After I continue, It doesn't take long before he whispers his warning.

Later, we make our way over to the bathroom, cleaning up before we head into the other room again. He holds me for a short while as we stand in front of the sink, telling me his thanks and how much he cares for me. I quickly get dressed, and he gets changed into something more comfortable.

"Yeah, I see that smile, Four!" Zeke taunts when we walk out into the living area, "we all know what you two were doing in there."

"Grow up," Tobias mutters, his hand splayed across my back, prompting me into the kitchen. I laugh slightly, poking his cheek which has more colour than usual. "So, I buy an apartment thinking I'll have all the privacy I need to be with you, and _this _is what happens," he says once we're alone in the kitchen.

"Hey, you can't blame them for wanting to hang out here. It's a pretty cool place."

"You think so?" He raises one eyebrow.

"Yes…_but we talked about this._ I'm just not ready yet."

"I know you're not, and I understand that," he runs his hand through my hair, pulling it away from my face. "I understand that because you're younger than me, there's going to be certain things that I want sooner than you're ready for. But I'm okay with waiting. You're worth it," he kisses my lips gently, pressing our bodies against each other.

"Thank you," I say. Since he's moved to the apartment, he hasn't been staying with me at night anymore. Instead, I come here to have dinner with him and never seem to manage to get myself home afterwards. I guess you could say I already practically live here, especially if you take note of the few clothes that I have hung up in his closet from 'forgetting' to take them home. But the idea of engaging in some kind of permanent commitment is a little terrifying at eighteen. The safety net of having my room at my mother's house is still needed. So now, like he did with me over the past month, I go home in the mornings and return here at nights. Then, my phone bleeps, causing us to separate. "I forgot, I'm supposed to go and see Lynn."

"Do you have to go?" he moans, pulling me closer against him, his hands running up and down my arms.

"Yes," I sigh, "she's alone tonight and needs someone to take her food."

"Give her the number for the Chinese we use, they deliver," he says with a mischievous grin because he knows he's doing wrong.

"_Four_," I scold. "I can't do that. She needs company."

"Fine," he smiles. "You're a good person, you know that, right?"

"Only because of you."

"No. Because of _you_," he points to my heart, then places his hand over it.

The walk up Lynn's pathway is familiar, and difficult since it's a little icy out tonight after the light snowfall. She takes a while to open the door, and gives me a calculating look when she does. "You look very…sophisticated," she says. I roll my eyes, shoving past her to get into the house. However, when I do, she scrunches her nose up in slight disgust.

"What's your problem?" I ask.

"You smell like Four," she says.

"I didn't realise that was a bad thing."

"It's not, if you like the way men smell."

I dismiss her comment, following her upstairs to her bedroom. If she thought I smelt bad, then I can't for the life of me figure out how she manages to live in here. There are plates filled with half-eaten and semi-rotton food scattered everywhere, teamed with drinking glasses filled with things that I don't even want to look at. The laundry basket is filled to the brim, dirty clothes spilling over and pooling around it on the floor. "When was the last time you cleaned up in here?"

"Eh, who knows, it's not as if I have anyone to impress."

"What about your parole officer?" I say, as I pick up a pair of underwear from the bed with my thumb and index finger, holding them out away from my body as I walk over to the hamper and deposit them on the pile of worn clothes.

"He cares if I'm doing drugs, not whether I've neglected my cleaning schedule or not."

"Whatever," I mutter. "But since you're spending so much time in here, it might be wise if you keep it clean and nice and organised, that way this whole thing won't be so unpleasant."

She rolls her eyes at me, completely ignoring my suggestion as she flops down on the bed and picks up the TV remote. "Did you bring me food?" She asks.

"Just this bag," I hold out the plastic carrier bag filled with snacks and junk food and soda.

"That's all?"

"You didn't give me any money, so yeah, this is all I'm getting for you."

"Thanks," she grumbles, snatching the bag from me and delving into the sugar and sweets. "Sit down."

For the next couple of hours, Lynn drones on about some soap opera that she's been watching every day, and how I should _totally_ watch it too. I dismiss that idea, telling her I simply don't have the time to come here everyday and watch soap operas with her. Obviously, she doesn't take this very well. "I'm just going to use the bathroom," I say, getting up from the bed and brushing the crumbs away from my lap. When I return, Lynn is sprawled across the bed, lying on her stomach with her mobile phone in front of her face. But when I walk closer, I realise, it's not her phone…it's mine. "What are you doing on my phone?" I ask quietly. This startles her, causing the phone to drop out of her hand and onto the carpeted floor. I pick it up cautiously, and see that it's open on the page of all my text messages with Four. "Were you reading my messages?" I ask her. Her eyes shift to the left, avoiding the question. "Does my privacy mean nothing to you?" I ask again. When I look back at the messages, I see that he sent me one whilst I was using the bathroom:

_Do you want me to come and pick you up now? The guys have gone home, there's a movie on TV starting in half an hour. Let me know x_

But that's not all. Next to the message is the little red exclamation mark, signifying that Lynn attempted to delete it. "Relax," she says, sounding cool and collected. "I actually found your kinky sex texts quite amusing."

"Did you try to delete that message he just sent?"

"No, I didn't. I must have pressed it by accident," she says.

"It wasn't an accident. You tried to delete it so that I wouldn't see it, and therefore stay here with you instead, didn't you?"

"_No, I didn't._ I was just looking through your pictures and texts because I'm a nosey pervert, that's all."

"That's all?" I shake my head in disbelief. "So you think that you have some kind of God-given right to invade people's privacy?"

"I wasn't trying to cause any harm," she holds her hands in the air defensively.

"Just…just…. _stop lying to me_."

"Huh?"

"All you ever do is lie to me. You always think you're helping me or doing me a favour, or pointing me in the right direction, but you're wrong. _You're always wrong._ Instead, you make me _miserable._"

"Tris, where is all of this coming from? What are you trying to say? I… I don't understand what I've done or what you mean."

"What I mean is… stop trying to control my life."

"I think you should leave. Cool down, and go hang out with Four for a while instead. I know this must be hard for you, seeing me again after all this time, and I understand that. So…go…." She stands up from the bed abruptly, picking my bag up from the floor and pressing it into my hands. She grips her thin hands on my shoulders, and pushes me out the door, down the stairs, and out of her house. The door shuts behind me, without a single goodbye exchanged between the two of us. So I stand here, in the cold without a coat, _gobsmacked_ to say the least. I replay the conversation over again in my head. Lynn telling me that she 'understands' and for me to leave was just her way of excusing her behaviour and avoiding an argument. And I fell for it.

Heaving a sigh, I call Four and ask him to come and pick me up. As I wait for him, I turn around, and look up to Lynn's bedroom window which is still lit up, a warm yellow colour against the blackness of the night. A storm is brewing; things have changed. Both for the better and for the worse. And I'm afraid I'm going to have to do whatever it takes to keep the better part of that change.

* * *

**I've been answering your questions/comments on my tumblr: yabooklover20 ... so check that out if you haven't already. :)**

**And thank you for favouriting/following and all the lovely reviews. Your support is much appreciated. **

**I hope you all have fun if you're celebrating new year's eve...stay safe! **


	26. Need

**A/N- Characters belong to Veronica Roth. **

**Happy new year everybody, I hope you all had fun! Next update will be in a week again.. sorry for not sticking to my schedule but it hurts to type since I twisted my wrist (and my foot) somehow on New Years, even though I was carried home. The moment reminded me of ch16 when Four carries Tris back to his house…a sort of freaky fan-fiction deja vu!**

**And also, a _huge_ thanks to BK2U for editing this chapter! I'm sure most of you wouldn't have understood some of the (very British) phrases I used if it weren't for her.**

*******Plus, the italics at the beginning of the chapter is a flashback.***

* * *

December 12th

_"__Oh God," I sigh and Four kisses my lips, our fingers linking together, his hands pressing mine above my head and against the mattress. He moves at a quick pace, the headboard banging against the wall in time with him. Sweat collects on the both of us, and the close restriction of the sheets causes me to kick them off us in discomfort. He says my name like a prayer, his devotion to me clearly showing. I'm consumed by him, the thrill of being almost powerless underneath his body as he takes control adding to the intense excitement and pleasure. I'm small, but I trust him; I trust him with my life. My eyes screw shut tight. I'm in my own version of heaven on earth. But then, the sound of my ring tone suddenly cuts through the ecstasy like a sharpened knife. _

_"__You didn't put your phone on silent?" Four pants, his voice riddled with disbelief. "Wait, you're not actually going to get that, are you?"_

_"__It's Lynn, she might need something," I say, leaning over to the bedside table where my phone is._

I replay last week's event over and over in my head, wondering how I could have been so stupid. Perhaps I'm too comfortable around him, so comfortable that I forget to care about what he thinks. I should probably work on that. "What are you thinking about?" Lynn asks me whilst she paints her nails with the new colour I bought her.

"Oh, nothing," I say.

"You sure? You seem pretty down."

"I'm fine," I try to muster up a smile. "I've got a job interview at the beginning of January."

"Really? Doing what?"

"It's just office work. I'm struggling to find something that I like, or actually want to do."

"You'll get there eventually. But at least for now, you'll be gaining experience."

"That's true," I smile. "Have you been keeping up with your painting?"

"Not really, I keep trying to start but I'm lacking inspiration. And anything I draw ends up looking abstract and depressing."

"You'll get there eventually," I parrot her. She clasps a hand on top of mine, leaning her head on my shoulder. The fresh air in her back garden is pleasant, and I'm sure the way that the sun is beating down on her is doing some good. Her usually warm skin is now nearly transparent. It took some effort and persuasion to get her to sit out here, but I think now she's glad she did.

"I do miss her, you know," she whispers.

"Marlene?" I ask, and she nods her head gently. I sigh, chewing on the inside of my cheek. "It's going to be hard for you to move on while you're stuck in this house."

"I know. But there's not a lot I can do about that," she laughs mirthlessly. "At least I still have you."

_At least I still have you._ The words cloud my brain, causing me to feel dizzy. It never really sank in, the fact that I'm now Lynn's only friend. There's no one else to visit her, no one else for her to depend on except for her parents, and even they're quite useless. My house is desolate and quiet since my mother is still at work, and also because I seem to be spending less and less time here lately. My room no longer feels like my room, and I'm certain all of the clothes I thought were missing are actually at Four's apartment. As I look up at the ceiling that's still painted like a cloudy sky, I decide that one day I will paint over it. The thoughts I used to have whilst looking up at this ceiling are all too vivid and unsettling. I would look up, wanting to escape, begging for freedom from my life. But I don't want to escape anymore.

I spring up from my bed when I hear the sound of Four's car beeping outside, and grab my warm winter coat since the weather is near freezing. I kiss him chastely on the cheek when I get in, buckling up before he drives off to the grocery store. I promised him I would help with filling the fridge in his apartment, since he's hopeless at food shopping.

It's almost a week until Christmas, and therefore the parking lot is crowded. He pulls out a shopping cart from the alley, pushing it effortlessly as we make our way through the automatic doors. The sound of beeps and clattering and chattering can be heard instantly, the chill from all the fridges making me thankful that I decided to wear a coat. I link my arm around Four's as he pushes the cart, stealing some of his body heat, and staying close and away from all the crazed Christmas shoppers. "Why do people buy turkeys so early?" I say.

"So that they can get the best ones, and then they probably freeze them," Four replies, moving us out the way of running and screaming children. "The Christmas markets opened last week, do you want to go tonight?"

"Sure, once _we've_ put all the shopping away," I give him a pointed look.

"I promise I'll help you," he reassures me, a small grin threatening to grow. We throw all the basics into the cart, breakfast foods first since that's the easiest. It turns out Four's a fussy eater, nothing that's too fancy or exotic tempts him. He picks out enough pasta and sauces to last a month, and I have to remind him to buy _green things,_ which he turns his nose up at. Once we get to the snack aisle, his eyes light up like a child and he starts to throw nearly everything into the cart.

"Why don't you buy these ones instead of the stupid fun pack?" I say, picking up a huge multi-pack bag of potato chips.

"Because, I like the beef and onion flavours," he snatches the bag out of my hands, throwing it back onto the shelf and putting the flavoured fun pack into the cart instead.

"They're full of preservatives, artificial flavors and additives," I take the fun pack out of the cart, replacing them with the multi-pack bag instead. This causes his frown to deepen.

"So?" he says.

"_So_, that's bad for you. Plus, they make your breath stink," I scrunch up my nose, tugging on the end of the cart in order to urge him forwards and away from the snack aisle. He stands still, making it impossible for me to move it forwards. I'm no match against his strength.

"You always buy the fun pack for Lynn."

"Lynn isn't my problem," I snap, face going red with annoyance. Suddenly, it becomes too hot in here, and I have to unzip my coat. Four rolls his eyes at me, and begins to turn the cart around in the other direction. "Where are you going?"

"To go and get you some tampons, you know, since it's obviously that time of the month again." His voice is ill-tempered and the scowl on his face is impossible to miss. I stand there for a moment, mouth open, humiliated. I look around quickly to see if anyone heard, anger boiling through every inch of me.

"You're a _dick_," I state, racing forward to catch up to him.

"No, I'm not, it's true. And because of it you've been in a sour mood all today and last night."

"But that's not the reason I'm upset, _Four_." I walk away from him, storming past the cashiers, jogging out of the entrance. But when I'm standing outside, taking in the fresh air, I remember that we came here in his car, and so I really have no idea what I plan on doing. Just when I'm contemplating what the hell to do next, Four charges past me, his shoulder only inches from mine. He walks determinedly over to the car, unlocking it on his way, and then slamming the door shut loudly once he's inside. I grit my teeth, and it takes every single fibre of my being to swallow my pride and get into that car with him. He speeds off before I even get a chance to buckle up, and I present him with the most irritated look I can muster. I was tempted to get into the back seat, but I know that would have been childish of me, and would have only served to make matters worse. We drive in silence, not mentioning anything about the abandoned grocery shopping. I still breathe heavily with anger and annoyance, my body pressed against the car door and window in an attempt to sit as far away from him as possible. I don't even know for sure if what he said constitutes a good enough reason for me to be this mad at him. Out of nowhere, I feel tears prickle my eyes, and my lower lip wobbles. _Don't cry, don't cry, don't cry_ is the mantra that I sing to myself in my head.

"That was really insensitive of me, wasn't it?" His rueful question cuts through the silence, and also causes me to forget my mantra. The tears that were brimming on my eyelids finally spill across my cheeks, but I feel too weak to even care. "Fuck, I'm sorry, don't get upset, Tris," he looks between me and the road worriedly, placing a hand on my knee.

"It's not that," I manage to blurt out, the back of his hand wiping my tears away. He waits until we're back at the apartment before questioning me further, letting me sit down on the couch next to him. "I don't want to go home tonight," I sniffle and mumble against my hands which are hiding my face, dreading the prospect of a cold and empty house.

"You know you don't have to. You can stay here whenever you like," he rubs his hand in circles on my back. "Don't hide," he says, pulling on my wrists to uncover my face. He smoothes the tear-soaked strands of hair away from where they are stuck against my skin, and pulls me up further onto the couch so that I'm curled up in a ball against him.

"I'm overwhelmed," I eventually say, as he hands me a tissue. "I feel like an eighteen year old with a child."

"What are you talking about?" He asks, confused.

"Lynn. She's become dependent on me, and I can't take it. It's too much responsibility."

"I thought she just needed to you buy her magazines and visit her now and then?"

"No, I'm the only friend she has now. And I feel like I'm responsible for making sure she doesn't relapse, to monitor what she drinks and takes, to make sure she avoids any drug usage."

"Tris," he sighs, "that's the parole officer's job, not yours."

"I know that, but it still feels like my responsibility. Especially with the way that she's been acting. She flips out if I tell her I don't have time to see her or can't stay for very long. I'm afraid of what she might try to do. To either me or her."

"What makes you say that?"

"Last week, she tried to delete one of the texts that you sent me, so that I wouldn't go home. It's controlling and just shows how insecure and lonely she's become."

"You think she'd try to break us up?"

"Not really, I mean she's not _that_ immature, and this isn't high school, so that wouldn't work."

"So what do you think she's trying to do?"

"Nothing intentional. She just wants me to herself, and likes playing games with people." Games. Lynn has always been good at them. Board games, playground games, video games, sports games. You name it, she can play it. And she never stops until she wins.

"Well, just don't let her get in-between us, visit her when it's convenient for you, and don't stress yourself about it." I snuggle further into his chest, enjoying his heat and scent. He smells sweet and familiar and, well, _like home_. My frown starts to turn into a smile and I close my eyes, enjoying the way his fingers trace patterns along my arm, holding me like he never wants to let go. "I'm not overwhelming you, too, am I?" He asks quietly.

"No!" I spring upright, looking at him with worry, "what makes you say that?"

"Like you said, you're eighteen, and I don't want you to feel like I'm suffocating you or anything. I mean, I didn't have my first serious relationship until you, and I'm twenty-two."

"Age means nothing. I want you. I need you."

"I wish you'd stop saying that," he says. "You don't need me."

"I do. I do need you."

"I don't want you to. You're stronger than that; you're brave, you're smart," he smiles in adoration, "and you could make it without me if you had to."

"But I don't have to, and I don't want to," I kiss him, firm and insistent, using my lips to reiterate my point. It would be toxic for me to say that I would die without him, but that doesn't stop me from enjoying the fact that I can depend on him.

"I don't want to, either," he says against my lips, his large hands almost circling around me completely when he holds me.

"Good," I say, running my hand up and down his chest but stopping when I feel something hard. "What's that?"

"Oh, I forgot," he unzips his coat, reaching inside to pull out a large bar of chocolate and box of pain reliever from the inside pocket. "I got these for you," he says, now suddenly shy.

"Thoughtful. See, you're not insensitive," I smile, taking them from him, my eyes running up and down the features of his face, memorising every detail. The snow outside falls from the sky heavily, a thick blanket of white coating the roads and rooftops. Four turns the heat on, and we get changed into our pyjamas, bringing the quilts and pillows to make a nest on the small sofa in front of the electric fire. We decide to order take out since we failed to get any shopping done, and prefer the option of staying inside where it's intimate and cozy, rather than venturing out into the cold for the Christmas markets. We've left the blinds open so that we can continue to watch the snow fall, the flakes melting against the glass. I could stay like this forever, just me and him, without even having to say a word. Life isn't so miserable when you have someone to pick you back up every time you fall. Someone to wipe your tears away, someone to just sit next to you and offer a warm smile. It's nice to not be lonely. It's nice to envision a future. Four gives me that. I look up at him, running my thumb across his bottom lip, pressing myself closer against him, just because I can.

"You realise that I'll stay with you no matter what, right? Even when you're being hormonal and annoying," he teases.

"I know," I wrap my arms around his waist. "That's what I love about you."

* * *

**I'm sorry I haven't been able to respond to all reviews individually this time around, but I've been so busy! I've read all of them, and each and every one is much appreciated... so thank you so much for that. **


	27. Tobias Eaton

**A/N- I don't own the Divergent characters, they belong to Veronica Roth. **

**A big thanks to BK2U for editing this chapter!**

* * *

December 19th

Sometimes, I forget how powerful he is. When we're making love, when we're playfully wrestling, when he lifts me up without effort, when he persuades me in an argument, when he walks in a room and everyone looks at him, he exudes strength and power.

And today, at his work's Christmas party, where all his fellow co-workers treat him with respect and a tinge of admiration. I already know that, because of his father, the Eaton name is a powerful one. I just never realised that Four was an addition to said power, rather than a mere continuation of it.

"We don't have to stay here long," he whispers in my ear as we walk into the hotel, arms linked, bodies side by side. We're led into a large function room, packed with tables and people and food and alcoholic beverages. The music isn't too loud at the moment, since the event is just getting started. There are men in suits gathered at the bar and women in skirts and dresses gathered at the tables chattering and laughing amongst themselves.

"I'm your plus-one," I say, squeezing my arm tighter around his. "I'll stay here until you're ready to leave."

"Alright," he kisses my temple. "You look amazing, by the way."

"You already told me," I look down at the floor shyly. I'm wearing the purple beaded dress he bought me the other week, my hair cascading around my shoulders in waves, the bird tattoos on my collarbone peeking out just slightly since the dress is high at the front and low at the back. We handed someone our coats at the door, so now I have nothing to hide behind.

"And I'll keep on telling you because it's true," he says, leading me over to a long table at the back of the room in front of the huge French doors that likely open up onto a small garden or balcony when the weather is warmer. Most of the seats at the table are already filled by suited men and sophisticated women. I drop my arm and link my fingers tightly with his, admittedly nervous to be surrounded by strangers. "Honestly, they're all a little boring and stiff," he whispers in my ear again.

"I thought they'd be the creative type," I say quietly, turning my head to the side above his shoulder to avoid anyone listening in.

"They're cutthroat salespeople, high up on the ladder thanks to their brutal work tactics." He pulls a chair out for me and we sit.

"So what does that make you?"

"A black sheep."

"It doesn't," I say firmly. "You're creative and smart, and you'll get further in life than any of these schmucks." It's no secret that he's not been enjoying his job lately. He's overworked and 'stuck in a rut'. He tells me that his days at the office usually consist of him playing around on the computer and daydreaming about quitting and finally starting up a venture of his own. He won't seem to give me a straight answer as to why he won't do just that, however.

The woman sitting next to me introduces herself, and a couple of people clap Four on the back and shake his hand. While I'm listening to the woman talk about what kind of food we'll be eating, I notice the place card in front of me, with the name "Mrs. Eaton" written across the front in fancy lettering. I nearly choke on my water, causing the woman to look at me quizzically and for Four to pat and rub my back.

"You okay?" He asks, still patting my back as my coughing subsides. I nod my head, picking up the folded paper place card and handing it to him. He laughs, scrunches it up, and throws it back into the middle of the table. "When I told them I was bringing my 'other half' tonight, they obviously thought it meant I had a wife."

"Hilarious," I mutter, like the eighteen year old I still am.

"Tobias," a man with dark greasy hair says smarmily from opposite us. "Aren't you going to introduce us?" He looks at me with a sly smile that causes me to shiver within.

"Eric, this is Tris," Four says, almost unwillingly. He moves his arm to rest on the back of my chair in a protective manner.

"It's lovely to meet you, Tris," Eric says. "Tobias has never had a girl to introduce us to before."

"Give the kid a break," an older man with silver hair says, clasping Eric's shoulders from behind and shaking them disdainfully, even though he's talking in a somewhat joking manner. "You still don't have a girl to introduce us to."

Eric grits his teeth and fiddles with his napkin, throwing another glance my way. A couple of people laugh at the remark, but not Four. Instead, he moves his arm to rest on my shoulder so that we're pulled closer together. I look at him questioningly but he just smiles. "That's my boss," he says, his head jerking in the direction of the man with silver hair.

"He seems cool…but that Eric guy is a creep," I whisper.

"Mostly harmless, though."

Not long after the awkward introductions, the food is finally served. It's typical Christmas food, and people are already becoming merry on the mulled wine and beer. I stick to soda. They all continue to engage in mindless small talk and business chatter, whilst Four finds every single excuse to touch me in some way. Tucking my hair behind my ear so it doesn't fall in front of my face and separate us like a curtain, smoothing my napkin across my lap, placing his hand on my wrist whilst we wait in between courses. What really gets me though, is the way that his arm still rests on the back of my chair when he leans back, his finger trailing up and down the bare skin of my spine, to the point where I'm _so thankful_ for the way my dress scoops down. "Easy," I mutter, when his hand goes under the table to rest on my thigh. He's amused by my reactions, pretending to gulp his drink when all he's really doing is looking down at me. I clear my throat and shuffle around on my seat.

"Another beer, Tobias?" His boss asks, cutting through the tension.

"No, I'm good, thank you," Four says, stabbing his fork into his chocolate cake. The dinner is over, and people are starting to abandon the table to venture over to the bar and the small gathering of people at the opposite end of the room.

"You don't seem to drink that much anymore," I comment, putting my fork down when I'm finished. He shrugs, wiping his mouth with a napkin. "Cutting down or something?"

He smiles to himself, shrugging his shoulders slightly. "Dunno, I guess I prefer you to alcohol."

I swallow thickly, unable to say anything, because there's nothing that could compete with a statement like that. There's no doubt about the fact that Four has used drink as a way of escaping harsh reality sometimes. Especially when it came to coping with the pain of his mother's death. The fact that I could possibly be helping him to somehow deal with that hole in his heart is staggering.

"Come on," he says, holding out a hand to me and looking over to the crowd of people gathering on the casual dance floor area. Some are in couples, others are younger and clowning around.

"I can't dance."

"I already know that," he grins. "You can step on my feet if you have to."

"Shut up," I say with a light laugh, standing up and slapping him on his arm. I follow him over, where he pulls me to a small group of people about his age and introduces me. I'm easily the shortest one here, since all the other girls are wearing high-heeled shoes and I'm not. I'm about a foot shorter than Four, so it makes it difficult to be close to him when we're standing up, especially when he starts swaying me side to side gently when a Christmas song comes on. I rise up onto my tiptoes, but it doesn't make much difference and I huff with annoyance.

"What are you doing?" He asks, confused.

"I wish I wasn't so short," I grumble, staring directly at his chest as he looms over me.

"Hey, I like you exactly how you are," he kisses the top of my head. "I wouldn't be able to do this so easily if you were eight inches taller now would I?" His arm around my waist tightens and he lifts me so that he stands up straight, my feet dangling inches off the floor.

"Put me down," I gasp, toes trying to touch the floor again. He does eventually, when more drunken people start getting up to horse around, people who are going to be embarrassed as hell on Monday morning back at work.

After a while, we decide to leave. Perhaps it's because we've had enough, or perhaps it's because of the fact that we can't keep our hands off each other. We walk out, hand in hand, collecting our long black wool coats on the way. The cold winter night is bitter and frosty, the ground solid and slippery from old snowfall and ice. We walk slowly to avoid falling, gripping onto each other for dear life. There is a row of taxicabs outside the venue, ready to take people home. We slide into the backseat of one, giving the driver the address. I don't buckle up; I shuffle next to him, both my legs slung over one of his as he holds me close. I kiss down his neck and the side of his face, my hand cupping the back of his head as my fingers move through his hair. Right now, I want to say something tempting or attractive or flirtatious. But as usual— nothing comes to mind. I smile falsely, annoyed with myself, the expression fading quicker than it grew. _I wish_ I was good at this sort of thing but I'm not, no matter how hard I try or how much I'm in the mood. "Tobias," I sigh, dropping my head against him.

"Did you just call me Tobias?" He says with slight shock, his fingers wrapping around my chin so that I face him when I stay quiet. "Are you finally going to call me by my real name now?"

"Is that alright?"

"More than alright, Tris. Quite perfect, actually," he smiles. Perhaps, rather than saying something seductive, it can be even more intimate to say something truly meaningful. Perhaps I'm not so terrible at this after all. We continue to kiss slowly, gently, and quietly in the back seat until the cab pulls up outside the apartment complex. Tobias hands the embarrassed taxi driver a few bills, making a somewhat apologetic point of not wanting any change.

We walk into the building, Tobias pressing the elevator button repeatedly with impatience until the doors open. He pulls me in and presses me against the mirrored wall, unbuttoning the front of my coat and dragging it from my shoulders. "What are you doing?" I ask when he drops to his knees in front of me, my body falling to the side a little when the elevator begins its journey upwards. He doesn't respond, instead, he looks up at me with a small smirk before licking his lips. He runs his hands up both of my bare legs, sliding under my dress and pulling my lace underwear down. He lifts up each ankle one after the other to get rid of them properly, stuffing them into the pocket of his coat. He then picks up one of my legs and props it over his shoulder, my head tipping back. "Tob-" I almost say, interrupted by a moan. "Crap," I mutter, fisting my hands in his hair and leaning heavily on him because my legs are already feeling weak. But it's over all too soon, when the elevator grinds to a halt and the doors ping open. He pulls away, standing up again, as I scoop my coat up from the floor and scurry out into the hallway after him.

"Come on," he says, his voice deep and throaty. His hand wraps around mine, and I have to jog a little to keep up with him, determination evident in his quick strides. I fail at holding back a grin when his hands tremble so much that he struggles with the lock on the door. As soon as he's got it open he's pulling me through and in front of him, lifting me up and over his shoulder. I shriek, fingers gripping onto his coat when the room spins upside down and the blood rushes to my head. He strides through the living room and into the bedroom, bending over to drop me down into the middle of the bed. I flop, my body bouncing, arms open and outstretched. He hovers above me, his knees between my legs which are bent up on either side of him, his hands spread wide, smoothing down my body firmly as my back arches into him. My heart hammers in my chest noticeably like it always does when I give myself to him, when I allow myself to be vulnerable to him. He kisses down my neck as his hand slides behind me, slowly dragging the zipper down on my dress. He rises as he pulls it off, along with my shoes afterwards. I stare at the ceiling whilst he makes quick work of undressing himself, throwing every single piece of clothing onto the floor, including his watch which makes a resounding 'thud' when it hits the ground. He turns the lamp on which sits on the nightstand, so I lift up the top sheet to cover myself up.

"Don't," he says, stopping my hand with his as he climbs back onto the bed next to me. "I don't want to just clumsily fumble around in the dark with you."

"I like it when we clumsily fumble around in the dark," I say, pulling him close against me so that he doesn't get a chance to drink in my naked form, illuminated by the lamplight.

"Tris," he sighs, but I continue to kiss down his neck, his chest, his face. "Look at me," he holds my cheek, stopping my actions. I give him eye contact, but that is all. "No, I mean look at all of me. Please don't be intimidated."

"I'm not intimidated," I say, my voice wavering. My cheeks heat up, my fingers dig into his shoulder. _I am intimidated._

Before Tobias, I was afraid of sex. I was afraid of being vulnerable, I was afraid of what the other person would think. But then we got drunk and did it anyway. So I thought, for a while, that I was over my ridiculous fear. And I was…almost. To the point where I would no longer freeze like a deer caught in the headlights. But, I'm still not confident. I'm not confident enough to be adventurous or to be the initiator. Not confident enough to take control or try something new. "Am I boring you?" I ask him carefully.

He shakes his head, "Don't be silly. Come on, forget I said anything." He leans over me into the position we're used to, the way that we always fit together. I like it, and it's comfortable.

But today, I want to be brave.

I sit up on the bed and push him down so that he lies flat on his back. Ignoring my nervousness, I swing one leg over his waist so that I'm straddling him. When he realises what it is I'm trying to do, his confident and commanding smile fades, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down when he swallows thickly. He scoots us further up on the bed and sits up against the headboard, his palm pressed against the side of my face. I lean into it, kissing the warm soft skin still calloused in places. "I do trust you," I say. "But you're going to have to show me what to do."

"We'll stop if you don't like it," he kisses between my brows, sitting up further. His hands travel back down to my waist once he tells me to rest my hands on his shoulders. He lifts me and guides me and ensures that we remain close and comfortable the entire time. It's awkward and my legs cramp up but I don't want to stop. A new wave of confidence overcomes me when I become consumed by him again, his complimentary whispers spurring me on.

After, we lay on the bed again, limbs tangled around one another. I hold his head against my heaving chest, my face buried in his thick brown hair. It has a curl to it now that it's been left to grow out, and smells of both him and me. With his finger, he traces patterns delicately on my side, gliding over the sticky dampness and blush-pink skin.

Yes, Tobias Eaton is a powerful name. It's the name of the man I'm falling in love with.

* * *

**My tumblr: yabooklover20**

**Also: Eric won't be making another appearance and won't be stirring up drama or anything. I wanted a coworker who was annoying and didn't like Tobias, so I thought instead of coming up with a random name it would be fitting to use Eric. **

**Thank you all so much for the follows, the favourites and of course taking the time to write a review! **


	28. Finale Part I

**A/N- I do not own the Divergent characters, they belong to Veronica Roth. **

**Thanks to BK2U for editing this chapter! **

* * *

January 10th

The clock radio blares, disturbing us from slumber. "Good morning, Chicago! That song was requested by our lovely listener, Annie, who's leaving the city today!" The radio DJ speaks in a chirpy upbeat voice, much too happy for this time of the morning. Tobias, annoyed, mumbles something into his pillow, and I roll over onto my side, smiling when I look at him. His eyes are squeezed shut, and he buries his head further into the pillow as the DJ babbles on. "Annie, why in God's name would you want to leave Chicago? The other week our listeners took a poll, agreeing that relocating was one of the most stressful things you can go through in your life—alongside marriage and divorce." I run my hand over the bare skin of his back, trailing a finger lightly up his spine and over the planes of his shoulder blades, causing him to shudder. The voice on the radio seems to get even louder now.

"Tris, turn it off," Tobias says moodily, lifting his head up from the pillow and squinting at the morning light, his hair tousled and sticking up in the front.

"Jeez, alright," I grumble, reaching out my hand to slam the snooze button on the clock that sits on the nightstand next to him. He moves his arms out from where they were tucked under his pillow, and rolls onto his back instead. He stretches out and yawns, the sheet resting on his waist, just below the hairs that burn a trail down his abdomen. He props his hands behind his head and closes his eyes again. "Well, I guess what they say about waking up on the wrong side of the bed is true."

"Let me sleep," he says, batting my hand away when I press it against his cheek.

"What's bothering you?" I ask.

"Nothing," he says.

"_Nothing._ And let me guess— you're fine. Right?" I say, my tone sardonic.

He pulls the sheet up properly to cover our naked chests, tucking it so that it's just below his neck, settling down as if he's getting ready to go back to sleep. "Don't start this now," he mutters.

"I don't even know what it is I'm starting."

"Good," he smiles, mocking sweetness.

"You're an ass sometimes, you know that?" I huff out of frustration, clambering over him and '_accidentally_' pressing all my weight down on his stomach, causing him to groan gutturally. When I stand up from the bed, I wrap the sheet around me and drag it away from him so that he lies there— cold and uncovered.

"_Tris_," he whines, arms wrapping around himself. His teeth chatter dramatically, and he cracks an eye open to look at me as if I'm the most evil thing on the planet.

"Staring at me like you're going to murder me isn't exactly going to win me over," I raise an eyebrow, grabbing my towel off the hook. "Did you bring shampoo? I left mine at your place and my mom's smells of _strawberries_," I scrunch my nose up.

"I did, but you can't use it," he rolls back onto his stomach and pulls my pillow against him, clutching it with one arm.

"Don't be an idiot," I pull on his ankles but he weighs a ton.

"I thought I was an ass, not an idiot?"

"Fine, I'd rather my hair stink of strawberries than smell like you anyway."

I stomp out of my bedroom and into the small bathroom, twisting the shower faucet on and waiting for the water to turn hot. It doesn't take long for the room to steam up, and I drop my towel and step in. I scrub up, allowing my soapy fingers to run over my body. Is this what Tobias feels? His hands are larger than mine, the skin not as soft. I bite my lip, going down further. But then, the shower curtain flies open and I nearly jump out of my skin. "Crap, you scared me," I say, breathless.

"This isn't a scene in 'Psycho'," he laughs, nudging me aside and stepping in. "Brought this," he says, opening the lid of his shampoo bottle. I wet my hair under the stream of water and he squirts it out onto his hand, foaming it up in his own hair before pouring more out and massaging it into mine. He clasps onto my shoulders and turns me around so that I face him, his hands running over my head as the water washes the suds down the drain. "Hey," he says, wiping the water out of my eyes. "I don't mean to be an ass." I lean up on my tiptoes and kiss him, careful not to slip. We finish up methodically, the running water turning tepid by the time we get out. Tobias dries off and slips on boxer shorts, I wrap a towel around my head and slip on boy shorts and a tee. He goes back into the bathroom, filling up the sink with water and wiping the steam away from the mirror. I walk in, propping myself up on the counter and pulling him to stand between my legs.

"What happened to your electric one?" I ask, picking up the plastic razor in my hand and wetting it in the water.

"It stopped working, but I've had it a while," he says, rubbing shaving cream over the hairs on his face.

"You should have told me, I would have gotten you one for Christmas." I cup the underneath of his neck with my hand, holding him still as I run the razor across the skin on his cheeks. When I go over the soft area of his throat, his breathing stills. "I'm not going to cut you," I smile.

"I know," he says, hands resting on my hips. I pat his face with a towel once he's finished, and kiss the newly uncovered skin, but he pulls away. "I need to put cream on."

"Here," I grab my tub of facial moisturiser from the side.

"I'm not putting that on," he frowns and roots through his toiletry bag for his own.

"You're such a _boy_," I say, prodding his side before hopping down off the counter.

"No, I'm a man," he smirks, lifting his arms and rubbing on deodorant. "I forgot to say, Lynn texted you before you got in the shower."

"Saying what?"

"I don't know. I don't read your texts, Tris."

"She probably just wants me to go over and visit her. I'll have to get dressed." Even though I was looking forward to spending a lazy day with Tobias.

"I need to see Zeke today anyway," he says.

"Can I kiss you now?"

He gives me a small smile, arms wrapping around me tightly, "maybe." He murmurs in my ear, hands dragging the towel away from my hair so he can kiss me and rest his chin on my head without restriction. Although things aren't always perfect between us, I can't really imagine wanting it better than this.

After getting dressed, I persuaded Tobias that he didn't need to drive me, that I wanted to walk to Lynn's house by myself. The temperature is freezing; winter cold. Walking down her road is familiar and safe. Except for the sound of bad rap music piercing through the slight fog. It's terrible 'I feel like I'm banging my head repeatedly against a brick wall' kind of music. It's the kind of music Lynn listens to, unfortunately.

I slam my fist against the white-painted wooden door, the broken brass knocker rattling every time as my knuckles burn with impact. Lynn answers the door after a short while, her hair wild and her makeup smudged around her drooping green eyes. She looks bedraggled, half asleep. Smiling like an idiot, she shuffles sideways and holds the door open wider so that I can walk past her.

"Lynn?" I say, raising a questioning eyebrow.

"Come in," she says, walking into the kitchen. Her voice sounds subdued and incredibly hard to hear over the loud music. I walk into the living room first, turning off the sound system so that I can hear myself think. My head clears when the house is silent, but then a crash resonates through the hallway from the kitchen.

"What's going on?" I shout, making my way over to Lynn. I dump my bag on the kitchen table, and gaze in astonishment at the state of the place. The kitchen is a war zone — splattered brown batter mix coating the white walls above the counter, cracked eggs and yolk dripping down from the counter onto the floor, flour coating the surfaces and the tiles. The air is clouded with smoke and I smell burning. I pick up the empty flour bag from where it was tossed on the floor, and make my way over to the stove. I turn the heat off on the oven and slip on a mitt, opening the door only to be choked by more heated grey air. I cough a little, wafting my hand in front of me. Inside the oven, sits a rectangular cake tin with some kind of charred black substance inside. "Great," I mutter, pulling out the tin and setting it on the side.

"I tried to bake you a cake," Lynn says from behind me. She has a small grin on her face, leaning heavily on the counter. "But I ended up getting baked instead." She begins to giggle hysterically, before I remove the oven mitts and throw them at her.

"You're an idiot, do you know that?" I say, poking the edge of the rectangular tin. Whatever it is, it's bubbling, the outline of it black and stiff as coal. "_Please_ tell me you weren't trying to make pot brownies?"

Lynn smirks, "I wasn't trying to make pot brownies." She fiddles with the rings on her fingers — her tell. Something that she always does when she lies.

I drag a palm over my face, in an attempt to rid myself of the tension headache that's making its way over me. "And now you're high?" I knock something with my foot when I turn around, a glass bottle on the floor filled with brown alcohol, its burning substance spilling and forming a puddle on the floor. "Oh, and drunk, too." I sigh, picking up the bottle and dumping it onto the counter.

"I am not."

"Whatever, I don't care. But we need to clean this mess up before your parents or the parole officer visit."

"The parole officer already visited this morning," she hiccups, "and I don't care about my parents."

"But believe it or not, they care about you. Perhaps I should call them."

"Don't call them Tris," she collapses on the floor in a heap, her head rolling back and resting against the island counter. "They'd send me back, and I don't want that. I want to be free," she holds her arm out, her hand moving through the air in a swaying motion. I want Lynn to be free, too. I want her to be free like the birds scattered on my collarbone, ready to take flight. I want her to be free like the creative girl I was awe-struck by at the age of twelve. But Lynn has changed a lot since then. Even though she's not in prison, she isn't free. She's become her own prisoner, a prisoner of her thoughts and feelings and sadness. It's painful to see, and I must try and stop it.

"I have to," I say quietly, walking past her to retrieve the house phone. She mutters some form of disapproval, and then latches onto my hand and tugs it back with force. My foot slips on spilled egg yolk, my body falling backwards with the weight of Lynn's pull and the lack of a sturdy surface beneath me. My back slams against the hard tiles and I get the wind knocked out of me. I wheeze, unable to breathe.

Lynn giggles. "Oh no," she says. "Come on, get back up." When she pulls on my arms, it makes the pain in my chest and back worsen, my tail bone throbbing with killer pain from the fall. My breaths are shallow; my neck feels strangled. "I know, I'll call for help." She gets up from where she was crouched next to me, and starts to rummage through my bag on the kitchen table. I close my eyes, focusing on my breathing, trying not to panic because I know the sensation of being winded will eventually subside— it happened once before when I was a small child and attempted to perform a back flip on the trampoline in our backyard. My mother was there, she told me to curl into a ball to relax my muscles. "Who's Tobias Eaton?" Lynn asks, "he's on your speed dial."

"Four," I wheeze. "Call him."

I can hear the ringing as she holds the phone to her ear, with a wondrous look in her eyes. "Hello?" She says. "Oh, hello, _Tobias Eaton_. This is Lynn. Yes, she's here. But she had an accident. She fell. Yes, she's on the floor. Yes, she's awake…but I think she might be crying." Lynn holds the phone away from her ear, and walks over to crouch back onto the floor next to me. "Tris? Are you crying?"

"No, just tell him to get over here."

"Four? Tris said that you need to… Oh." Lynn looks at me, annoyed. "He hung up on me."

"Whatever, just help me sit up," I hold out my hands to her, but she can't lift me. Instead, she slips on the sticky substance and falls onto her ass. She laughs, clearly unfazed by the harsh contact with the tiles.

By the time I've managed to shuffle around and pull myself up to lean haphazardly against the cupboards, we hear a key turning in the lock of the front door. A couple of voices emerge, one clearly Tobias, the other feminine. "We're in here," Lynn shouts giddily.

"_Oh shit_," I hear a light voice curse, and look up from the floor to see Shauna standing in the doorway shaking her head. "Four, get in here."

Tobias rushes in, relief evident on his face when he sees me smiling sheepishly. He makes his way over to me, hooking his hands under my arms and lifting me from the slippery ground with ease. My feet slide a couple more times, the batter and yolk and milk mixing together under my sneakers. But he keeps a firm grip on me, walking me over to where the tiles aren't coated in goop. "Are you alright?" He asks, hands gripping onto the tops of my arms, his head bowed over and tilted so he can look into my eyes.

"I'm fine, now. But Lynn obviously isn't," I nod my head in her direction. She's lying on the floor now, her hair sticky as her arms slide around in the spilled batter. Shauna hovers over her, attempting to drag her up from the floor. Tobias pulls out a chair and helps me slowly sit down before walking over to Lynn and helping Shauna lift her up from the ground. She squirms, protesting profusely at the manhandling, hitting Tobias on the arm when his hands grip onto her kicking thigh.

"Keep still," Tobias spits at her harshly, his short temper showing.

"Don't get angry at her," I warn him. "She's practically out of her mind."

Shauna tries to coo calming things to her sister, her arms wrapped around her waist as they both lift her and plop her back down onto the brown leather beanbag by the bookshelf. Lynn kicks Shauna in the shin, her limbs flailing, and somehow manages to elbow Tobias where it hurts most. He crouches over in pain, biting his lip, his hands clasped together below his abdomen. "Fuck," he hisses.

"Lynn, you need to calm down, we're only trying to help you," Shauna says, gripping Lynn's wrists. "Did she hit your package?" Shauna smiles ruefully at Tobias, who throws her a pained glare.

Shauna tells us to leave, that she's already called their parents and they're on their way. I take one last look at Lynn, slouched in the beanbag, an incoherent mess. It takes me a while to get seated comfortably in the car, the bottom of my back still searing with pain. I end up leaning heavily on my thigh, sitting sideways. "Zeke and Shauna were at my apartment when Lynn called…I'm sorry if you didn't want her to come, but she wouldn't let up."

"I didn't at first, but I know that what Lynn needs is help, even if that means having to go back inside." He smiles at me, his hand clasping over mine. Walking into his apartment we are a sorry pair, both of us waddling and limping slightly in pain. I become irritated with the way that Tobias is fussing over me, assuring him that my back is fine and I don't need to get looked at. "You know, I can walk without you propping me up like a crutch," I say. "Perhaps you should stick a bag of peas on that," I nod my head to his nether regions, trying to banish the humorous smile on my face at the way that he's still hunched over. He mutters something under his breath, throwing his car keys onto the side table and slamming the door behind him. Zeke is still here, sitting at the dining table which has a bunch of papers strewn across it.

"Hey, Tris," he says with a smile, taking the pen that he was chewing on out of his mouth.

"Hey," I say, walking over to the table. I lean heavily on the back of the chair, sifting my hand through the papers. There are leaflets with pictures of pretty houses on the front, small maps and scribbled out notes consisting of numbers and what look like financial calculations. Tobias walks over, hurriedly, attempting to move me away from the table. "What are you doing?" I ask, a terrible feeling in my gut, like I just swallowed a huge stone and it's plummeting downwards.

"Just looking at places in Illinois and seeing if Four can afford them," Zeke says casually, writing something down inside one of the leaflets.

"What?" I exclaim, looking up at Tobias with wide eyes, searching his blue ones for answers. He begins to stammer, face slack, then he turns his head and shoots Zeke a death glare.

"You haven't told her?" Zeke asks worriedly, biting on the inside of his cheek and leaning backwards out of instinct, away from an angry looking Tobias.

"Haven't told me what?"

"Tris-"

"What is all this?" I push Tobias away from me with force. I pick up the leaflets— realtor leaflets. "Are these houses on the other side of Illinois?" I look at the addresses, then the newspapers that are spread open on the table. They've circled different houses in green and red pen.

My worst fears are laid out on the table, literally.

"You're leaving?" I ask breathlessly, turning around to look at Tobias. He just stares at the floor.

* * *

**Sorry for the cliffy... **

**There's only two chapters left of Jaded after this one, so stay tuned! **

**My tumblr: yabooklover20**

**Thanks for the favs/follows and to those of you who left reviews, it's really encouraging, especially since these last few chapters have been an absolute killer to write...endings are the worst. Please continue your support :) **


	29. Finale Part II

**A/N- I do not own Divergent or its characters, rights belong to Veronica Roth. **

**Thank you BK2U for editing this chapter! **

**So I'm posting this a little early, partially because I'm going to be busy for the rest of the weekend...but, I also didn't want to leave you all hanging for much longer since quite a few of you have been asking me what's going to happen. So here it is :-)**

**The _italics_ at the beginning of the chapter is a flashback, it continues on from the end of the last chapter. **

* * *

January 12th

_Tobias leads me into the bedroom, away from Zeke, shutting the door behind us. He sits on the end of the bed, patting the space next to him, gesturing for me to sit down. I refuse, folding my arms and shaking my head, standing near the door instead. He sighs heavily, elbows on his knees, his head in his hands. I'm alert, afraid, and angry. But most of all, I'm confused. Confused by the secrecy and by the way that Tobias is acting. "I'm going to ask you again- are you leaving? Are you leaving me?" I repeat, my voice sounding panicked and almost shrill. _

_"__Tris, would you just calm down first?" He says, looking up at me as if I'm the one that's acting out of order here. _

_"__No, I won't. How do you expect me to be calm when the dining table is covered with advertisements for houses that are a two hour drive away from here? Houses that, according to Zeke, you're planning on purchasing," I say. Tobias stays silent, gritting his teeth and staring at the ground. "How do you expect me to be calm when you won't even explain yourself. You promised me, Tobias. You promised me that you would stay with me no matter what." _

_"__I know," he almost shouts. "I meant what I said, I'll keep that promise. Those houses…they were for both me _and _you," he says the last part quietly. _

_"__Excuse me?"_

_"__You heard me. I wasn't looking to move into a new place on my own again. I wanted us to move away together. Do you actually believe for one second that I would leave you after everything that's happened between us? It's insulting." _

_"__Insulting," I parrot the word, rejecting it. "What's insulting is the fact that you couldn't even talk to me about this first without planning it all out with Zeke." _

_"__You're looking at it the wrong way," he dismisses me with a shake of his hand. "I wanted- want- to take the next step with you. I'm fed up with you taking your toothbrush home every morning only to bring it back at night. Why don't you just leave it here? Why don't you just put your clothes in my closet instead of leaving them in a bag by the nightstand? I was scared to talk to you because sometimes I feel as though you're not ready to commit to me." _

_"__So this is all about a fucking toothbrush? Don't be ridiculous. After everything we've been through and shared with each other, you could have just told me from the get-go that you wanted us to move in together. We share everything: each other, our thoughts, our fears…so why all the secrecy? Did you not think for a second that sneaking around with Zeke is essentially going behind my back and would most likely make me suspicious?" _

_"__It's not about a toothbrush," he sighs. "I know that this is a huge deal, a huge thing to ask you. It's a milestone. So before I asked you to move away with me, I wanted to be sure that we could make it work first. I wanted to be certain that I could afford a nice enough house with the money from my dad, and that there would be opportunities for us to both find work, or for me to finally start up my own business. But like I said, I was scared about what your reaction would be. Every time I tried to approach the subject, I chickened out." _

_"__You chickened out? So, am I really that unapproachable now?"_

_"__You're not, but-" _

_"__No," again, I interrupt Tobias, which I can see frustrates him. "You could have just been straight with me, Tobias. Did you honestly believe that I would say no after I've spent practically every single night with you since that day we spent painting at your old house?" _

_Tobias stammers, face contorting with annoyance. He's walking on eggshells with me, and I don't want our relationship to be like that. "Tris, I…I…" _

_"__Forget it," I say. I open the bedroom door, intent on walking away from Tobias' flaring anger. _

_"__Tris, don't walk away from me," he says sternly, getting up from the bed in order to follow me._

_"__I think we both just need a minute to calm down," I say over my shoulder. I see Zeke still sitting at the table, but then I feel Tobias' hands on my hips, spinning me around to face him. _

_"__Just come back to the bedroom," he pleads, pulling me towards him. _

_"__I don't want to," I say firmly. I see him swallow, brows furrowing, a look of desperation on his face. Then, his hands wrap around my wrists and he pulls me. "Tobias!" I say between gritted teeth, angrily. He circles around me, an arm clasped across my chest, pushing me back down the hall. I resist, crouching down to push back, my hand gripping onto the doorframe when we get to the bedroom. I turn around, his face is red with anger and the heat of the moment. I've seen him like this before, but it's never been directed towards me. He tugs my hands away from the doorway, nudging me further into the room before slamming the door shut with incredible force. I stand there, panting, eyes wild. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" I shout at him. _

_Tobias starts to run his shaking hands through his hair, panic replacing the rage. "I want you to just stay with me so that we can figure this out," he says. _

_"__Everything alright in there?" Zeke shouts from the other side of the door. _

_"__I'm fine," I shout back, listening to the sound of his feet thudding against the wood flooring as he walks away from the door. _

_"__Tris-"_

_"__You can't force people to stay with you, Tobias. You can't stop them from abandoning you—it's their choice," I spit without even thinking. That was a low blow, and I know it. His eyes cloud over when he looks at me, and for a split second I think we both might cry. I want to take the words back as images of a fourteen-year-old Tobias sitting by his dying mother flood my mind. I realise he's afraid I'll leave him, too. So am I. _

_"__I just find it difficult to talk about things like this." _

_"__Like what? Our future?" I ask weakly, exasperated. "You know what? If you can't talk to me about things like that, then don't bother talking to me at all." _

It's been forty-two hours since we argued. Forty-two hours that feel more like a week. It's pathetic and embarrassing, but I stayed wide awake last night, finding it almost impossible to fall asleep. It was the first night that I had gone to sleep without a 'goodnight' from Tobias since August. At first, we'd say it over the phone, and eventually side by side. But last night…nothing. My quilt, the sheets, the pillows—they all smell like him. Sweet, musky, warm and comforting. I press my face against the pillow, inhaling deeply, eyes closing. My mind is racing, racing with things that I want to say to him. We haven't spoken since, except for a text message I received from him a couple of hours after I left his apartment, saying "I'm sorry for letting things get out of hand, sorry for the way I pushed you." To which I replied with, "Thank you for apologising, but I won't tolerate you manhandling me." He didn't text me back.

My mother noticed something was wrong straight away, probably because I actually ate dinner at home and watched some reality TV show with her for the first time in who-knows-how-long. She tried to comfort me, giving me some clichéd advice about dealing with heartbreak. You know, the whole 'there's plenty of fish in the ocean' speech. In the end, I told her to "shut up," because I saw that look in her eyes, the one where she talks but doesn't even listen to the words that she's saying because she knows it's all crap. She knows that Tobias is the only one for me and that we're both being idiots by not talking to each other. I wish that for once, she'd tell me the stone cold truth instead of coddling me. I wish she'd give me the wakeup call that I so sorely need right now.

After I've had enough of feeling sorry for myself, I roll out of bed and pull on a mismatched outfit, haphazardly running a comb through my hair and splashing cold water over my face. I should probably shower, but I need to be at Lynn's house soon to see her before she leaves. Leaves for the rehabilitation centre she's being sent to... across the country. I'm trying not to think about it too much. Trying not to think about the fact that I'm about to lose another best friend.

On the journey to Lynn's house, I walk the long way around, passing Tobias' old house. A new family has since moved in, and the house doesn't look as polished as it used to. The brass door knocker isn't as shiny, the grass is uncut, the windows are dirty, and the rose bushes out of shape—but the people inside it are probably happier.

Lynn's father opens the front door for me, smiling tightly because he's never been the kind of man to show an ounce of emotion. "Hey," I say quietly, knocking on her bedroom door timidly a couple of times before walking in. Lynn is sitting on her small bed, staring blankly at the wall in front of her. A pair of navy blue suitcases are propped up next to her, the black metal pull-handles sticking upwards. The posters have been taken down from her walls, and I've never seen the room look so clean and bare. Scratch that, I've never seen _Lynn_ looking so clean and bare. She looks up and smiles at me, her eyes puffy, bloodshot and rimmed red. She's dressed in a light blue T-shirt with a yellow dog cartoon on the front, dark brown boot-cut jeans and red sneakers. Her hair, now long enough, has been scraped back into a ponytail. All her earrings have been taken out, leaving little dots to line the outer part of her ears where the piercings are. Aside from the tattoos that still remain, she looks young. Vulnerable, even. I sit down on the bed next to her, the springs of the mattress creaking beneath me, and pull at her shirt with a small smile.

"My mom bought me new clothes to wear for rehab," she says, her voice sounding nasal.

"Is there a dress code or something?"

"Yeah, nothing provocative. It's pretty strict, they only allow certain magazines and books and video games," she sighs. I hate to see Lynn looking so defeated, but at the same time, it's nice for her to be acting calm and normal rather than crazed or erratic.

"When do you leave?"

"In an hour…the place is in Utah. My Mom and Dad are taking me, but Shauna's staying here to look after Hec." I place a hand on her knee, and she holds it, her finger running over the silver flower ring on my middle finger. "Who got you that?" She asks.

"Four, at Christmas."

"It's really pretty, he must have good taste," she smiles, but then it fades away and her brows furrow. "Is he downstairs with Zeke and Shauna? I think I owe him an apology for the way I acted the other day."

"No, he's not."

Lynn looks at me strangely, eyes taking in my appearance, then asks me, "You look wrecked, did you two get in a fight or something?" I chew on my lip and drop my head, fiddling with the ring on my finger, sliding it on and off. "What about?"

"He wants to move further south," I say, and she lets out a long breath, waiting for me to continue. "And... he wants me to go with him."

"Really?" She smiles like an idiot, and it frustrates me. It's the reaction I wish I would have had when Tobias first told me his true intentions.

"Yes, _but_ it's such a big step. And he didn't even talk to me about it at first, he just snuck around behind my back with Zeke because he was too afraid of asking me."

"Isn't that normal, though? Don't you think that it just shows how much he cares about you? He's obviously so scared of losing you that he doesn't even want to risk asking you to move in with him… in case you freak out and say no. I bet he wanted to plan out his big idea to try and persuade you," she laughs. "Who knew Four was a softie underneath that drill sergeant shell of his."

"I suppose I didn't look at it that way," I mutter.

"No, which isn't surprising, because you're stubborn and were obviously too caught up in the fact that he kept a secret from you."

"Are you trying to say that I should go with him?"

"Of course I am— why would you stay here, in this dead-end town? You feel safe with him, don't you?" She asks, I nod my head. "You enjoy spending time with him don't you?" Again, I nod my head. "You love him, don't you?"

"It's not that simple."

"Of course it is. You know that beating muscle that sits in your chest, buried between your lungs and rib cage? Well, you should learn to follow it once in a while."

"But it's such a big step," I whisper. Lynn pulls me into her arms, dragging us up on the bed so that we lean against the wall.

"Those are the more exciting ones," she says, holding me tighter, and my legs curl up against me. "They're the ones that bring the most change, the most opportunity. And, you kinda need a bit of change and opportunity in your life right now," she laughs mirthlessly.

"But what about you?" I ask, my voice wavering and eyes blurring.

"What about me?" she parrots. "Tris, I'm going to be gone for quite a while. I need it, I need to get better."

"I'll miss you," the tears spill over onto my cheeks even though I try to keep a smile on my face. Lynn wipes them away with her hand, ignoring her own.

"I'll miss you, too...it's been a long road, Prior."

"It has," I gasp, my laughter and sobs mixing together to form some kind of guttural, wet, choking noise.

"Promise me you won't be scared anymore? Promise me you won't let your fears control you, that you'll live in spite of all that?"

"I promise," I smile. "I promise that the next time we see each other I'll be some kind of super woman," I tease. Lynn doesn't respond, she just stares off into the distance, her grip loosening up on me. "Hey," I tug on the material of her shirt, "this isn't goodbye forever."

"Sometimes," she whispers, "people are supposed to grow apart. They're supposed to go their separate ways."

I look up at her, looking at the way her shoulders shake, the way she gulps noticeably. "But I don't want to," I grip onto her again. "I just want everything to be okay."

"Can't you see that everything already is?"

_Everything already is okay. _The words sink in, and that is when I know: things are changing. We're moving on, bettering ourselves as a result. Sometimes we have to take a leap of faith in order to make things better. I'm learning that change can be good. So later, when I've said goodbye to Lynn and Shauna asks me, "Is there anywhere I can drive you, Tris?" I say yes.

I gnaw the inside of my cheek on the way there, my fingers tapping against my thigh. I see Shauna look at me sideways a couple of times in my peripheral vision, although we don't talk much except for her making a comment on the weather and icy roads.

"Alright, here we are," she says, smiling and pulling the car up to the curb.

I look out the window at the familiar apartment block, a nervous feeling brewing in my stomach. "Thanks," I mutter, unbuckling my seatbelt.

"Hey," Shauna presses her hand on top of mine. "Zeke told me what happened. But deep down, Four's a good guy, you know? You bring that out in him. And you deserve each other."

I nod my head a little, thanking her for the ride before clambering out of the car. She drives off as soon as I make my way through the glass doors, pushing them with my shoulder since they're so heavy. In the elevator, I take calming breaths. I haven't planned what I'm going to say to him, but there's some kind of magnetism that propels me out of the elevator and to his front door without any hesitation or second thoughts.

I knock, and he answers quickly. "Tobias," I whisper. He's in his pyjamas, hair tousled, and just the sight of him is enough to bring a small smile to my face. What I didn't expect, though, was for him to gather me against his chest, wrapping his arms around me so tightly that every inch of my body is pressed and squashed against his, my head turned to the side as I listen to the rapid melody of his heart and revel in the scent that now represents safety and comfort and love. I also didn't expect for my decision to be so easy to make all of a sudden.

My mother used to tell me _home is where the heart is_. And, my heart belongs to Tobias— it's been that way since I first saw him. Since I first _really_ saw him, saw how vulnerable and kind and brave he can be.

Tobias stretches an arm out, slamming the apartment door shut. He cups my face with shaky hands, his fingers woven through my messy hair, his thumb smoothing back and forth across my cheekbone. He doesn't say anything, but his eyes drink me in, examining every inch as if he'd forgotten and needs to remember again. "I'll go with you," I say. "I _want_ to go with you."

"Thank you," he murmurs with a sigh of relief, his shoulders relaxing. "Because I'm falling in love with you." He presses his lips against mine, his top lip resting on my bottom one. His hands then slide down my back, running over my behind before gripping onto my thighs and lifting me up. I wrap my legs around his waist, and he carries me into the living room and lays me down on the couch, resting between my legs. "Slowly, but surely," he says with a smile. "And I want to know what it will be like, how it'll feel, when you have all of me occupying this space right here" he presses his fingers on my chest where my heart is.

"I already do," I say, running my nose up the skin of his neck, pressing my lips against his pulse point which is thudding faster and faster.

We continue to kiss— slowly, gently, caressing faces rather than bodies. After quite some time has passed, we decide to talk about the more important, boring yet serious stuff. But that doesn't mean we've stopped our sideways glances, casual touches and caresses. I sit on his lap as we search through different houses and areas on the computer until our eyes start to feel dry and tired.

"When I sent you that text message telling you I was sorry…I meant it. I really hate myself for the way I grabbed you."

I chew on the inside of my cheek, "I hated it, too."

"Look, I'm not going to talk a load of bullshit to you by saying I didn't know what I was thinking and I didn't mean it. There's no excuse for me using my strength against you and I know that. I also know that I continuously struggle with my temper and need for control, and just because you're half the size of me doesn't mean that I'm entitled to just pick you up and put you where I want you. I promise I'll work on that, and I promise it won't happen again."

"You're right, it _won't_ happen again," I say sternly, " because like I said, I won't tolerate it. But I also think we both need to make a promise to start talking to each other. You know, if we're going to move in together and live like adults then we need to start acting like them."

"We do, and that's something we can work on together," he kisses my shoulder, and I lean into him closer.

It's past midnight by the time we eventually go to bed. Light from the moon and the city shines through the windows after Tobias flicks off the light switch. We pull our clothes off methodically in unison, crawling under the warm feather quilt and switching on the heated blanket. I roll over to the middle of the bed, and he curls his body around mine, my back to his chest. One of his arms slides underneath my neck, and the other wraps around my waist, holding me close. I run my fingers over the tendons in his hand, eyes wide open even though I'm exhausted. The mood is solemn and peaceful until I blurt out "I'm sorry, my hair probably stinks because I didn't take a shower today."

Tobias laughs, his body shaking against mine. I laugh too, and we finally release all the tension that we've been holding in over the past couple of days. If I didn't laugh, then I would most likely cry. "You don't stink, you just smell like Tris," he says. We stay quiet after that, and I feel his breaths against the top of my head begin to slow down, his chest rising and falling steadily against me. I should probably let him sleep, but my mind is still racing. Racing with anticipation and a whole bunch of different worries that face me. I can see myself growing up with Tobias and experiencing huge milestones that I only ever envisioned in the far future...but the future is suddenly here and now. I feel like I'm not a young girl anymore, not the girl that used to get into trouble with Lynn and backtalk to my mother. I'm going to have to deal with a new set of responsibilities and challenges. I've had to grow up so quickly, practically overnight. But later is better than never, I suppose.

I look at the time on the clock, it's been more than half an hour. I turn around awkwardly in Tobias' grip, pressing myself against his chest instead. However, this disturbs him, and he takes in a deep breath through his nose, his eyebrows raising and his eyes blinking open. "Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you," I whisper. He smiles a little, eyelids drooping again. He lazily runs his fingertips up and down the skin of my back, his chin resting on my head.

"Why can't you sleep?"

"Because I feel like everything's coming to an end," I say.

Tobias stirs, shuffling down on the bed so that he's face to face with me, his hand now resting between my face and the pillow, his palm cradling my cheek. "Maybe," he mumbles sleepily. "Or maybe it's the start of a new beginning."

* * *

**Thank you so much for all the reviews, please continue! My tumblr: yabooklover20**

**And yes, the next chapter will be the final chapter. I'll answer your questions about epilogues and what not when I've posted the next chapter, since I haven't finished it properly yet. **

**If you haven't already, head over to my new story which was posted a couple of days ago. It's called 'Sixteenth Summer'. **


	30. Closure

**So this is it, the final chapter. I'm sorry I didn't get a chance to update last week, I didn't mean to leave you hanging but I've been so busy with work and life etc. A few of you informed me that the last chapter made you cry real tears...I'm not sure whether to apologise or not. I'm flattered, if anything, that my writing managed to provoke a strong emotion. If you ****don't like bittersweet endings, then perhaps get the tissues ready this time ;-) **

**And of course, as always, thanks to BK2U for editing this chapter in record time so I could get it up sooner than planned!**

* * *

August 1st

I was twenty-six days shy of my nineteenth birthday when I attended my first therapy session, thanks to my friends and Tobias, who all persuaded me to go. Sitting in the waiting room was torture. My leg bobbed up and down restlessly, my eyes drifting and examining every inch of the room. I was about to leap up and flee back out of the door when my name was called. "Beatrice Prior?" a tall, lanky man with dark, floppy hair asked. At the time all I could do was nod tightly and follow him down a small, musky-scented hallway. I didn't even correct him with my usual 'It's Tris'.

He asked me a whole bunch of questions to get the session started: "So, you suffer with anxiety and bouts of insomnia?" _Yes;_ "Do you struggle with lack of sleep?" _Yes;_ "Do you work full-time?" _I do, in a nursery;_ "Do you enjoy it?" _I love it;_ "Do you live on your own?" _No, with my boyfriend;_ "Are you studying anything at the moment?" _Yes, childcare and mathematics;_ "How would you describe your social life?" _I have opportunities, but because of the anxiety I don't always take them;_ "That and the exhaustion is something we need to work on. So, just one thing I want to record before we start the CBT— what is your goal for the end of therapy?"

That was the only question I got stuck on. Honestly, I have everything right now. I have everything, but sometimes it still isn't enough. I can still wake up kicking and screaming in the dead of night, plagued by nightmares from my past that haven't been put to rest. It's not just me that's suffering with lack of sleep anymore, I'm affecting Tobias, too. He stays awake with me when I can't get back to sleep, and refuses to sleep on the couch or in the spare room, even though it would spare him from being woken up by my tossing and turning. I'm juggling a lot at the moment; my studies for childcare and placement at the nursery can be stressful, especially since I've been told I need to pass mathematics. Obviously, Tobias is always there to help, but he's got work of his own. He's started up his own business, and so far it's been a success. People hire him to create computer plans for their houses—both interior design and structural changes. Eventually, he wants to branch out, perhaps hire some people and begin creating design software of his own.

"Crap," I mutter, my phone sliding out of my pocket and dropping underneath the passenger seat of my car. I only recently learned how to drive, and my skills are still a little rickety. I've been stuck in a little traffic on my way back from the therapist's office, and I'm pushing it for time since we have a charity event that we need to attend. To try and get some much needed closure after his mother's death, Tobias has been taking part in various charity events that raise money and awareness for cancer. He even ran a marathon last month, and gained plenty of sponsors for it. It's helped him feel not so powerless, since after his mother died he's always felt as if there was something he could have done for her. It's not the truth, of course, since the illness was way out of his hands. But now, he feels like by raising money he's helping others, rather than just watching and hearing about cancer tearing more families apart.

I pull up into the driveway, biting down on my lip when I hit the huge plant pot and knock it over. I park outside the garage and leave the key in the engine, ready for Tobias to come out and drive it inside the garage properly, since I can't do that yet without causing damage to the brickwork. As if on cue, he jogs outside in his pyjamas, hair tousled since he had slept in today. "Hey," he says to me, a little breathless and distracted. He kisses me on the cheek quickly, and hops into the driver's seat of the car, parking it effortlessly. It's his small white sporty one that he's had for a couple of years. He lets me drive it since he recently bought a bigger car when we moved.

I make my way into our house, stepping past boxes that we haven't managed to unpack yet. We moved into the house a few months ago, but parts of it needed redecorating so it's been a bit of war zone. It's decent sized, not too big nor too small, and I love it now that we're putting our own stamp on it. When we first moved in, I was a nervous wreck because I had never even travelled anywhere without my mother before, and Tobias was stressed out because the movers messed up our boxes. We had to drink purple grape juice out of mugs and share cereal that we ate out of a huge cooking pan. We even had to sleep on our mattress on the living room floor for a couple of weeks and live off a diet of take-out and cold cuts. I smile ruefully at the memory, me sitting on the floor in Tobias' clothes, rubbing his back after his face went green from eating a spicy curry dish for the fourth time in a row.

"Sandwiches?" I shout to Tobias when I hear him come back into the house and throw the keys on the sideboard.

"Sure, I'm just going to get in the shower quickly," he shouts back, jogging up the stairs. I know he's nervous about today, I'm just waiting for him to admit it. The charity event is being held in our neighbourhood park, there's going to be games and food but also a few speakers—Tobias has offered to be one of those speakers. He really just needs to present some facts, but he's also going to talk about his personal experience and the loss of his mother. I guess it provides a kind of shock and sympathy factor, engaging the audience and making them understand how it affects people. But really, like me, there are just some things he needs to get off his chest. Once he's showered and back downstairs, we devour the sandwiches quickly in silence, heading back up to the bedroom to get dressed.

I stand in our walk-in closet, in the midst of struggling to pull a floral dress over my head when Tobias walks in. "I'm kind of nervous," he says quietly, walking up to me and helping tug the dress down my body. _There it is_, I think to myself. I'm just thankful that he's actually admitting his feelings to me rather than keeping it bottled up like he used to. He stands there in his boxers and white shirt, the collar sticking up whilst he fiddles with his tie. I pull him to stand in front of me, and push his hands away as I pull the tie from around his neck.

"Ditch the tie," I say. I walk over to where his clothes hang, and pull out a plaid button up instead. "Put this on with your jeans. It's daytime, and the weather's warm…you don't need to look _that_ formal."

"Not helping," he mutters, taking his white shirt off and putting on the plaid one instead. As he buttons it up, I take his face in both of my hands, my thumb running back and forth over his cheekbone soothingly. He leans into my embrace, his eyes lowering to the ground.

"Don't be nervous," I say sternly. "You practiced the presentation and you were great at it. You remember all the facts and figures by heart, and you always speak clearly and perfectly. It's not supposed to be too serious, you know? It's a family event, and some of them will be goofing around on stage to make the kids laugh rather than cry."

"I can't goof around when I'm talking about my mom. I'm worried I'll get too choked up…maybe I shouldn't be doing this."

"Tobias, stop. You want to do this, you already decided that it would help you. That it would help others see how real this stupid disease is and encourage them to donate some cash and take part in the fight against it. Just pretend that you're back in our living room practicing and you'll be fine."

"I'll have no problem with thinking about when we were in the living room the other night," he smirks, recalling the night when he was _supposed_ to be practicing but got distracted with me instead.

"I don't think recalling that incident while you're on stage is a good idea," I snicker, as his hands snake around my waist. He kisses my neck gently, just below my ear. "Tobias," I sigh. He carries on kissing across my skin, nudging the straps of my dress down as he lays his lips on my shoulder and collarbone. "We have to stop," I say unwillingly, knowing that we're on a time schedule. He whines with displeasure, his fingers sliding up firmly until they make contact with my ribcage, pressing them against my sensitive spot. "Stop!" I gasp with a laugh, leaning backwards as my legs almost give way with the ticklish sensation, but his arms keep me firmly against him.

"We have twenty minutes," he says, his other hand dropping lower to slide up my loose dress.

"Later," I promise to him, gripping his hand firmly and pulling it away from where he was teasing me. I turn around, smoothing my hair down and pulling on my sandals. He sighs deeply, head dropping back dramatically before he, too, finishes getting dressed.

As expected, the drive to the park was tense. Tobias' fingers tapped relentlessly against the steering wheel as we hit every red stoplight. But then he asked me how my therapy session went, and I think I managed to distract him by talking about that for a while. His nerves disappeared as soon as we got there, his mask that prevents people from knowing how he really feels growing. I sit on one of the creaky plastic chairs in front of the main presentation, a few rowdy children next to me making it difficult to hear anything. The mayor has managed to show up, and provides an opening speech about how thankful he is that we all attended today. I fan my face with a leaflet, little droplets forming on my skin from the heat. Everyone is a little fidgety, but the charity workers- and Tobias- do an excellent job of entertaining while still providing useful information. However, my eyes traitorously flick to the left, eyeing up the bake sale and mountain of chocolate cake.

And that's exactly where I go as soon as the opening presentation is over. The kids run off to the bouncy castles and scream with joy when they chase each other, carrying blue and white balloons with the charity's name stamped on them. There's a row of gazebos and tables, some selling food, some selling knick-knacks. All proceeds will go to the charity, of course. Which is how I justify buying two slices of chocolate cake instead of one…and then two more for Tobias. I'm walking up the small crowd of event workers, intent on giving Tobias some cake, when I walk past the Fun House Mirrors. There's a young girl staring at herself in one on her own, laughing at the way the mirror distorts her image. She catches me looking at her, and shyly waves over a hand. "It makes you look fat," she giggles. "My sister thinks it's stupid, she's over there," the girl says, pointing at an older looking teenager who's queuing up for one of the small rides.

"It's not stupid," I say. "It's funny." I walk up to the mirror, laughing at my own silly reflection. I look taller and wider, but then when I stand on my tiptoes, my raven tattoos become magnified and it sends a jolt of pain through me. A reminder of Lynn, that's all these tattoos have become. I haven't spoken to her in nearly eight months since she's been in rehab, and sadly I doubt I'll ever speak to her again. She was right, people _do_ need to move on and sometimes have to go their separate ways. I've heard from Shauna that she's doing well, though, and her health is progressing. Even though it's hard, she's apparently making the most out of her time at the centre and has been clean ever since she got there. Even though the change is sad and sometimes I miss my best friend I can't bring myself to wish that things were different. Because, things are getting better, for all of us, and _that's_ what's important. It's hard to let go, but she's happy, I'm happy, and that makes the whole thing a little easier. Friends don't always last forever, and I'm learning to accept that and move on.

"You look like you've seen a ghost," a voice- Tobias'- says from behind me. I jump, the pile of cake dropping to the floor. "Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you." He bends down in front of me, picking up the cake and throwing it into a nearby trash can.

"It's not your fault," I say, my fingers linking with his as we walk back to the bake sale to pick out something else. "You know my mind just goes all over the place sometimes."

"Do you think that going to therapy will help?" He asks, tucking my hair behind my ear.

"I think so," I smile. "I mean, I have a good feeling that it will."

As promised, we ate the cake we went back to purchase and then left the event, both exhausted after today. Tobias drives the car into the garage, pulling on the parking brake and shutting the engine off. He leans his head back against the headrest and closes his eyes, releasing a deep breath whilst he undoes his seatbelt. I unbuckle my own, leaning over the armrest to kiss the side of his face, my arm snaking around the back of his neck as my hand grips the top of his arm. "You did a really good thing today, Tobias," I whisper in his ear. "And your mom would be proud of you."

He pulls back a little, his eyes skimming over my face, his thumb brushing over my bottom lip as he stares at it. "Are _you_ proud of me?" He asks.

"Of course I am," I say, pressing my lips against his, firmer this time, enjoying the way that I can so easily lose myself in him. We lose _ourselves_ in each other. Soon, our kisses become passionate and urgent, and I somehow make my way from kneeling on the passenger seat to straddling his lap. We begin to pant, our bodies craving friction as we press and move against each other with want.

"Is it later yet?" He asks me breathlessly. I laugh, biting my lip and nodding my head. He grins, opening the car door to get us both out. I lock my legs around his waist firmly, our hands and mouths sloppy due to the multitasking involved with shutting the car door and opening the one that leads from the garage into the kitchen. He takes us over to the island counter, setting me down on it as his hands work clumsily to pull the top of my dress down and gather the bottom of it up around my waist. I manage to get his shirt off in seconds, the buttons an obstacle that won't stand in my way when I know exactly what I want. Our bodies tremble with emotion, strange feelings surging through me to the point where all of a sudden I know what I want. It's Tobias, it's always been him. Even after everything—after all the struggles and heartache and sadness he's still the one that's here for me at the end of the day, and I'm always the one that's here for him, too.

"I love you," I suddenly tell him for the first time. It's the truth, I _am_ in love with him, and I'm no longer afraid to admit that. It feels safe to say it, something that is certain, something that I am sure of. At first, I don't think he heard me properly, since my voice was strained and faltering. But then he stills, breaking away from my skin to look up at me with an intensity in his eyes I've never seen before.

"Please don't leave me," he begs, head tilting down, and I can feel his harsh breaths against my shoulder. I don't let him hide, I fit my hand under his chin and tilt his head back up to look at me again. This time, I look past the deep blue eyes that captivated me when I first met him, and I marvel at who he really is. At first, all I saw was the deep ocean blue, the intimidation, the striking looks and the way he carries himself. But now I see the vulnerability, and the ways he's been hurt. Just like me, he's been lonely. But together, we are something else.

"Never," I say sternly, because this moment is too intense for sweetness and smiles.

"Promise?" he says, his voice cracking and thick with emotion like mine. I purse my lips, in an attempt to fight back my sadness at the sound of his voice. But I can't help it, a few lone tears manage to fall, as I think about the people who have abandoned us. I think about the people who were supposed to love us, but left; whether by choice or not. The people who hurt us, whether intentionally or not. I think of the boy who got left behind, lost without his mother and confused without love or attention. I think of the girl who got shut in her room, scared and alone, with only harsh and violent words to keep her company. I begin to cry for us, my head dropping heavy on his shoulders, my tears dripping onto and falling down his skin. His arms wrap around me tighter, pulling me against him in a way that makes me feel safe rather than constricted.

"I promise."

Sometimes we are told that we shouldn't rely on other people to bring us happiness, that we shouldn't need anyone but ourselves. But I've learned that having someone there to take the extra weight from your shoulders and share your burdens can be almost lifesaving. And, even though love can't solve everything, it can damn well _try..._ and that is all that matters to me. Now I understand this: I am not damaged by life or beyond repair.

I am not jaded.

Like everyone else on this godforsaken planet, I'm a work in progress; but there's a light at the end of the tunnel, and I can see that now. And so, once my tears of sadness have lifted, I raise my head and look at Tobias, pouring all of my adoration and devotion into my gaze. Then, I kiss him tenderly on the lips, grateful for the fact that we have found each other. For the fact that we are mending each other.

"I love you, too," he says.

**The End.**

* * *

**PLEASE READ:**

**There will not be an epilogue chapter. After this one, it is not needed. _But_, I may possibly be posting some bonus chapters, so keep following for updates on that. **

**I have the rest of their lives mapped out: what their kids names will be, when they'll get married etc…and I kind of feel like it needs to be told. I've already grown attached to the characters of the kids that I've created for them and think it would be nice to share it with you all. **

**If I do decide to share these mini chapter with you, I _won't _be posting it on a separate story, I'd just add it onto Jaded. So, like I said, all you need to do is keep following this story so that you'll get an email if I post a chapter. If you have an idea of something that you'd like to see or know about regarding Tris and Tobias' future, you can send me an ask on my tumblr: **yabooklover20** (especially if you're a guest reviewer, since I can't reply to you directly). **

**Sorry for this super long author's note, but I'd also really just like to say thank you to everybody who has supported this story, whether you're new on the Jaded train or you've been here since the very beginning. It's the longest story I've ever written, and I've become so attached to their characters and lives. Your reviews and comments are the reason that I've kept going with it over these past few months!**

**I'm not sure when or if I'll post the bonus chapters-but in the meantime, head over to my new fic "Sixteenth Summer", I'd love to hear all of your comments on that, too :-) **


	31. Bonus Content 1

**Hello again! **

**Here's the first instalment of bonus chapters. Quite long at about 6 thousand words, and it covers a few years. Tris and Tobias' ages are written at the beginning of each section just so you know where things are up to.**

**Everyone, thanks should go to BK2U for spending the time to edit this whopper of an update! It wasn't easy :-) **

* * *

Bonus Content Part 1 

**Tris:**** Age 21 ****Tobias:**** Age 25**

The reason Tris stopped taking her birth control pills was because that's what her idiot doctor instructed. She'd been on them for three years, so he told her that she needed to take a break for six months. After doing some research on the computer at home, it seemed as though this was an outdated concept and wasn't at all beneficial for her ovulation cycle like the doctor had claimed. But that didn't matter, since the practitioner wouldn't budge and denied her request for a repeat prescription.

"Please don't act all egotistical by saying I got the wrong size," Tris says wryly as she sets the box of condoms out on the coffee table in front of Tobias, who's busy reading the paper.

"No, they're the right ones," he says dismissively with a sigh. Tris doesn't know what's bugging him, but takes the huge box upstairs and shoves it into the drawer in the nightstand next to their bed.

It's only a couple months later when they both stumble into the house, bellies full from the gourmet food they ate at the restaurant for their 'date night'. Since they're both busy with their careers these days, Friday nights always consist of food, quality time and sex.

They barely make it into the living room, Tris nearly tripping over because her panties are dropped around her ankles, restricting her legs. Their mouths are sloppy as they kiss, both tasting like steak and chocolate and wine. She kicks her heels off, pulling Tobias' shirt out from where it's tucked in his black jeans as he fiddles with the zipper on the back of her dress. They collapse onto the larger sofa, her legs instantly locking around his waist easily as she lifts her hips to grind against him with want. Tobias bites down on his lip, emitting some kind of growling noise as he looks down at her with lust-clouded eyes.

"Condom," she says breathlessly as she fiddles with the button on his jeans.

"Fuck," Tobias hisses, thinking about the stupid box of condoms that still sits in the nightstand upstairs. He hasn't had to carry condoms around in his wallet since Tris was a teenager, and he'll be damned if he has to leave her warm embrace to trek all the way upstairs and get one. "It's okay, I'll just pull out."

But he didn't. They got a little too caught up in the moment, Tobias moving quicker than usual because they were both so desperate for the release that they hadn't had in quite a few days. He had all intentions of pulling out, but came quicker than he thought he would and well…then it was too late, his hips jutting of their own accord.

—0—

Tobias holds his ear against the bathroom door, but can't hear anything. _This is all his fault_. They either should have just taken things up to the bedroom that night after the restaurant, or he should have withdrawn like he said he would. He feels as guilty as ever, because now Tris has locked herself in the bathroom with pregnancy tests that they got from the pharmacy. It's been two months since the incident, and Tris hasn't had her period.

"Tris, you've been in there for half an hour," Tobias whines impatiently, knocking his hand lazily against the door.

"Door's open," she calls. Tobias walks in the bathroom to see her sitting on the toilet, holding a pee stick between her legs. On the counter, are two more. "Best out of three," she smiles at him sheepishly.

"I'm surprised you have it in you," he comments, holding in a laugh at her contorted face.

"I drank, like, two pints of water."

Tris finishes up, placing the cap on the end of the pregnancy test before handing it to Tobias and washing her hands. They line the three of them up on the counter, and he times two minutes on his watch. Tris clutches onto his arm the whole time, her stomach in knots. They haven't really decided what they want the outcome to be. Granted, this wasn't planned, but they've got a house and two steady jobs—not to mention their rock-solid relationship. "It's time," he says, looking at her with nerves written across his face. They slowly approach the counter and flip over the sticks to see the results.

All three are negative.

Only now does Tris realise what she wanted the outcome to be: she wanted it to be positive. Tobias mutters something that sounds like "never mind," and scoops the sticks up and throws them into the trash can. They both go to bed that night dissatisfied and thoroughly confused about their feelings.

A couple of days later, Tris got her period. It was like the world shoving its middle finger in her face— a big _fuck you._

"Tris, don't get depressed about it," Tobias tells her over dinner.

"I don't even know why I'm so disappointed. It's not like we were planning it."

"Would you…_like_ to plan it?" He asks her hesitantly, setting his fork down to look at her. Deep down, she doesn't have to think about her answer to that question. She knows the excitement and giddiness she felt when she was buying the pregnancy tests is an answer in itself.

"Would you?" She asks softly.

"I guess I would," he says, playing around with his food, the corner of his mouth curling upwards. He lifts his eyes to see Tris grinning from the other end of the table, pleased with his admission.

"I would, too."

"So I don't have to use the condoms anymore?"

"No," she laughs, "you don't."

* * *

**Tris:**** Age 23 ****Tobias:**** Age 27**

"It's been two years, Tobias," Tris says glumly from where she's sprawled across his panting, sweat-slicked chest. "I don't think you sticking my legs up in the air and tilting my hips upwards for ten minutes straight is going to make a difference."

"It was just a stupid thing I read online," he mutters, feeling foolish that he Googled crazy acrobatic sex positions that are supposed to make trying to conceive more successful. He also feels powerless and emasculated because he's been _unable to plant his seed_— which were the drunken and unhelpful words from a phone conversation with his friend Zeke.

"What happens if _nothing_ makes a difference?"

"I, uh - I don't know," Tobias admits. They've avoided this conversation up until now, convincing each other that it will happen for them someday and that there's really nothing to worry about. But two years is a long time, and things aren't looking good. "There's always adoption," he blurts out.

Tris immediately stops playing with his fingers and props herself up, away from where she was lying atop of him. She looks at him with a mixture of shock and sadness and a harsh realisation. "I want _your_ babies. I want them to have brown hair and blue eyes and be stubborn and bad tempered but also kind and quiet and thoughtful. I don't want - I, I can't even -" she shakes her head, blinking her eyes rapidly.

"I didn't mean to upset you," Tobias says, sitting up on the bed next to her and wrapping his arms around her small frame. "Come on, it's midday, let's go and get some fresh air."

They walked to the park in silence, Tobias' arm slung over Tris' shoulders. Both of them are distracted with thinking about _what ifs_— how would it feel if they both got tested and it turned out they couldn't make a family? They tactfully avoid walking past the children's playground, since the last thing they need is a reminder of how much they want their own kid running around.

The bench that they sit on is situated away from the busy playground, in a secluded area of the park. It's under a willow tree, shading them from the spring sun, the fresh scent of newly cut grass surrounding them. Tobias' leg bobs up and down nervously, and he fidgets with his jacket and the material of his jeans, even scratching the back of his neck now and then. "Are you feeling alright?" Tris asks him worriedly.

"I'm okay," he says, not very convincingly. "It's just that there's something I've been meaning to ask you and I don't know if it's the right time or how you'll react," he gulps.

"I think we've learned in the past that there's never a right time for anything."

"True," he chuckles. "I, uh -" he opens the left side of his jacket, rooting around in the pocket for something. "I just want you to know that I love you, Tris," he stops whatever he's doing to give her eye contact. "A lot. I love you a lot. Well, more than a lot, actually… but, um, I was hoping that you'd want to make that love more…official."

Tris' heart seems to stop its loud hammering in her chest and goes dead still, her ears ringing, when he pulls out a velvet ring box from his jacket. Tobias stares down at the ring box in his hands, turning it over and over until he eventually opens it. Inside, sits a generous pear-shaped diamond, resting on a platinum band. "Tobias," Tris whispers, turning her head to look up at him instead of the sparkling rock.

"I want to know if you'll marry me," he says quietly, still looking down at his lap instead of at Tris. When he does finally look at her, though, she's wearing a hopeful smile on her face rather than the depressed one from earlier today. Her crystal blue eyes are shining more than the ring, and she holds out her trembling hand towards him with a small, shy smile. He takes that as a yes, and deftly pulls the ring out from its cushioned slot. The band slides onto her ring finger easily, since he took one of her other rings with him when picking out the size. The diamond looks a little more obnoxious than it really is when it's sitting on her small hand, but it's beautiful like her nonetheless. They kiss, gently and softly, hands embracing one another, soft lips speaking for them rather than words. For now, this is enough.

—0—

The wedding was held at a manor house, in the beautiful lush green, flower-filled gardens. Tobias wore a very light tan coloured suit, and Tris' gown was just as simple. It was form-fitting, but not too tight, made out of a thin silk material with elegant straps and only a small train that suited her petite figure. Her veil was long, though; its delicate embroidered material trailing on the floor behind her. The entire event was quite simple, yet somehow still too formal for Tris and Tobias. Their closest friends and family attended, even Marcus and Sarah, with whom Tobias doesn't really keep much contact lately.

But now, only a couple of days later, they're at the airport queuing up to board their flight. Tobias hasn't said much since this morning, and Tris knows from the other couple of times that they've vacationed together that he's scared of flying. The combination of the heights and confined spaces can be overwhelming for him. They hand over their passports and plane tickets, the blonde flight attendant smiling warmly at them both. "Did you take the pills the doctor gave you?" Tris asks him.

"I told you I'm not taking any pills," Tobias grunts, his face looking clammy.

"But they'd really help you."

"They wouldn't _help_ me…they'd just send me to sleep. And then I'll feel groggy for the next couple of days and it'll ruin our honeymoon."

Tris decided to keep quiet after that. After all these years, she's learned that the best way to help Tobias is just to be near him. When they get seated, though, his discomfort increases. Tris sits next to the window, and she closes the little plastic shutter so that he can't look out by accident. His hands grip onto the arm rests, his leg bobs up and down, and his jaw clenches as he grits his teeth. Tris fiddles with her new wedding ring— it's a platinum band that fits perfectly against the shape of her pear-shaped engagement diamond. Tobias' wedding ring is also a band of platinum, simple yet precious.

"Not long now until we land in France," Tris tries to say positively, but Tobias just hums quietly. "I know this is terrifying for you," she whispers, "but just try to think of it as something positive. It's an adventure. Just like the rest of our life together."

At this, she sees the corner of Tobias' mouth lift slightly, and even though his eyes are shut tight, his hand finds hers easily.

* * *

**Tris:**** Age 25 ****Tobias:**** Age 29**

Fifteen thousand dollars. That's how much their first child has cost. Tobias really thinks he's just paid for fifteen grand worth of torture, since Tris spent the first couple of months hunched over their toilet bowl. Thankfully, their first course of IVF was successful; they'd have to save up for even longer to afford another go at it.

"Okay," Tris says, walking out of the closet and into the bedroom. "Oil me." She walks over to Tobias who's sitting on the end of the bed, and hands him the bottle of skin oil. He presses his hands onto her hips and pulls her to stand between his legs, untwisting the bottle cap and pouring the pink coloured oil onto his hands.

"You know, I had many daydreams where you demanded that I rub oil on you, but in none of them were you wearing granny panties," he says, snapping the waistband of Tris' black cotton underwear with his index finger.

"They're not granny panties," she huffs, irritated. "They're maternity underwear. All of my normal stuff either falls down because of my bump or gives me a wedgie because my ass has gotten fatter."

"I'm only joking," he says with a smile, smoothing the oil onto her skin in circles. He runs his hands all over her thighs, her hips, her bump, her chest, and she even demanded for him to oil her back 'just in case'. "What's this supposed to do, anyway?" He asks as he runs his fingers over her inner thighs, feeling the indentations of the angry red lines that are growing there.

"It stops stretch marks."

"Well, it's not working," he says bluntly, without even thinking. Tris' jaw drops, annoyed that he'd point something like that out so insensitively, especially since she's always struggled with her body image. She snatches the bottle out of his hands and storms back into the closet, throwing it onto the floor in anger. They both know that Tobias continually struggles with kindness and the way that he words things. But lately, with her flaring hormones, it's even easier for Tris to get upset. "Tris, don't," he says quietly when he follows her into the closet. She's sitting on the floor, scrubbing away at the angry red marks as if that will make them disappear. He clasps his hand over hers, moving it away from her skin and sits down on the floor next to her.

They sit like this, side by side, probably for an hour. Tobias points out all his scars to try and make her feel better— the dent in his chin from a skateboarding accident when he was a kid, and the silvery stretch marks of his own from gaining muscle practically overnight. He tells her she's beautiful no matter what, and even though saying that still probably won't make her believe it, they both appreciate the intimacy.

—0—

The first time they try to have sex is when it's already been far too long. Sure, they've gotten…busy. But they haven't been able to give themselves to each other fully because of Tris' dreadful morning sickness and general irritability that she feels whilst pregnant. She's well into her second trimester now, though, and is starting to feel things again— things other than nausea and grumpiness and feelings of inadequacy directed towards her changing body. Tobias was just starting to fall asleep when Tris began to kiss down his bare chest, her hands gentle and curious and touching him just the way he likes. He wakes up quickly, his eyes flying open, looking at Tris with a goofy grin. They begin as they always do, but this time it's awkward and uncomfortable for them both. The baby bump gets in the way, Tris' back aches in protest, and all the while Tobias is just wishing that he had ordered one of those pregnancy sex pillow thingies that he researched online.

"I'm gonna go on all fours," she eventually murmurs in his ear, and he nearly swallows his tongue. They kick the quilt and comforter out of the way, and Tobias sidles up from behind her. He bends his body over her back, his arm slinking around her stomach in an attempt to support the heavy weight between her hips. They've done this a few times before. It's not their favourite position because they prefer to be able to see each other, but for Tris it never normally feels _this_ bad. Tobias' movements are causing Tris' body to pitch back and forth, and the motion is making her insides swirl and writhe, especially her stomach. This prompts her to think about the baby inside of her, which is oh so very off-putting when she's trying to have sex with her husband. She decides to stick it out for a few more minutes in hopes of it getting better, but then she feels bile in her throat and knows that if they carry on, this is all going to end dreadfully. "I'm sorry, stop," she rasps out.

"Not good?" He pants, hands gripping her hips.

"No, it's making me feel sick again, I need to lie back down." Even though he still craves her, Tobias gets Tris settled on the bed again before taking himself into the bathroom to get her a glass of water.

The next time they have sex, things are much more successful. They're lying in bed in their usual sleeping position—Tris on her side with Tobias behind her, his body curling around hers. She feels him press against her, a fire growing in her middle when his large hands work their way down her legs. "I think we can make it work like this," he whispers in her ear. All Tris can do is nod her head, a little needy, and bites down on her lip as Tobias removes both of their pants. They don't bother to take their T-shirts off before he's lifting her thigh up to get better access, the both of them slipping into what seems like long-lost ecstasy. It's good. Really good, actually. The way Tobias is spooning her feels comfortable to Tris, and all she has to do is lie there and get kissed and touched by him, so there are no complaints with that. Neither last very long, and after, they're both exhausted and spent and sated. They should probably shower, but the moment feels too good to care about that.

"I've missed you," Tris says. "I've missed this."

"I've missed you, too," he smiles, running his hand over her hair.

—0—

"I can't feel any kicking today," Tris comments when they're cleaning up in the kitchen. "It just feels weird."

"Maybe the little alien's tired for once," Tobias says, drying off the drinking glasses with a towel.

"Stop calling it an alien, Tobias," she laughs with a shake of her head.

"That's what it looks like on the scans," he defends, backing away from Tris when she threatens to slap him with a dishcloth. It's only four weeks until Tris' due date, but her stomach is huge on her small body. Even Tobias' T-shirts are tight on her now and she's suffering with a lot of discomfort. They've got an appointment next week to evaluate the due date again, since she may need to schedule a caesarian section a couple of weeks early because of the increasing size of the baby.

Tris and Tobias take two hot chocolates up to bed with them, retiring early because Tris' back pain is killing her. He arranges the mountain of pillows behind her and helps her shift into a comfortable position, even though that's almost impossible lately. Even the once life-saving pregnancy pillow makes her feel flustered, so she opts for Tobias' curling around her at night instead.

"I feel sick," she starts to whine, placing the mug onto the nightstand next to her.

"Like you're actually going to be sick?"

"I don't think I'll make it," she croaks, slapping a hand over her mouth as she struggles to clamber off the bed. In record speed, Tobias flies into their bathroom, grabbing the plastic organiser box from one of the drawers that they keep all the toiletries in. He tips everything out and races back into the bedroom, just in time to save their new plush cream carpets from an unsightly stain. He sees the hot chocolate again, and holds her hair back until she's done.

A couple of hours later, Tris still looks pretty green. She hasn't had sickness with her pregnancy for a while now, and Tobias hopes to God that she hasn't caught some kind of bug or virus because that would be the last thing she needs right now. She's in bed, shaking and sweating as he kneads his knuckles into her lower back until his hand cramps up, trying to relieve some of the aching pressure she complains is forming there.

Tobias doesn't know what time it is when he wakes up to complete darkness. He's groggy and clammy, and doesn't even remember falling asleep in the first place. But then he feels something warm and wet on his legs, and in his haziness, thinks for a moment that Tris has wet the bed. He plunges his hands under the covers and sure enough feels a damp patch, but then he realises what it really is. _Of course_, he thinks. The signs have been there all day, he just didn't look at what was right in front of him. His eyes widen and he wakes up instantly, unceremoniously kicking the covers off and flicking on the switch for the lamp. "Tris, wake up," he whispers to her, shaking her shoulder gently.

"Hmm?" She mumbles sleepily, clumsily feeling around for his hand.

"I think your water broke."

—0—

After that, everything seemed like a blur—a strange, heightened mixture of emotions. Tris was giggling when she waddled over to the bathroom to get in the shower, the strange liquid continually and very slowly trickling down her leg. "It won't stop coming out," she complained to Tobias, who was frantically rushing around the bedroom getting dressed, stripping the sheets and making sure they had their hospital bags packed. "You look like a dad already," she commented on his attire: shorts, sneakers, T-shirt, grey hoodie and a baseball cap.

"Are you feeling okay?" He had asked her with concern. How could she be so relaxed?

But the giggling and excitement stopped around the time they finished gathering up their things and got in the car. They decided they needed to head off to the hospital as soon as possible rather than wait around; Tris wasn't even full term yet. A dull, aching pain had been steadily growing deep in her belly ever since she woke up, and now in the car, it's even worse. She's fussy and won't let Tobias touch her, shifting in her seat and rolling her head to the side with a contorted expression on her face. "It feels like I can't sit down anymore," Tris panics when they pull up in the hospital parking lot. Tobias jogs to the reception area, alerting a couple of nurses who follow him back out to the car with a wheelchair. They drove here in the SUV, so it's a struggle to get Tris out of the passenger seat smoothly, but all of them working together eventually manage to do it. One of the midwives quickly checks out her lower half discreetly, and assures Tris that she can sit down and that it's just the process of dilation that's making her feel as though the baby's coming out.

"It looks like this kid's pretty eager to see you both," the female doctor says after examining Tris. They're already in a delivery suite, Tris on the bed, Tobias standing next to her. They hook her up to several machines, checking her blood pressure and other vital signs.

"We're concerned about the baby's heart rate," the doctor later tells them, when Tris has dilated to nine centimetres. "We're going to have to attempt an assisted delivery quickly so that we can get the baby out as soon as possible."

Tris whines in pain and Tobias feels faint at the mention of 'forceps'; he can't even look at what they're doing to her down there. Fifteen minutes later and things are looking even more bleak. Tobias can tell there's something wrong, the concerned look on the doctor's face says it all, and the look of horror on the nurses' faces adds to that. Eventually, they take the contraptions away and begin to discuss things in murmured voices. "What's going on?" Tobias demands, fed up with being kept in the dark. He wants everything explained to him, pronto.

"We're struggling to get the baby out…the safest option now would be to perform an emergency caesarian."

—0—

_The safest option_, Tobias rethinks the words as he pulls on the hospital-issued scrubs. _Yeah, well, it had better be. _

They've already taken Tris off to surgery, and left Tobias behind so that he can change his clothes. He's rushing so much that he puts his legs in the wrong holes, and the stupid rubber shoes aren't even big enough for him.

A nurse leads him to the correct operating room, and Tris is already set up on the bed with nurses and surgeons rushing around her. "Tobias," she whimpers, holding out her hand for him. He quickly latches onto it, sitting on the little stool next to her head. There's some kind of green curtain draped across her middle, blocking off the view of the delivery. A nurse fusses around Tris, stuffing her hair into a hair net and fastening a tag around her wrist.

"It'll be alright now," Tobias says to her, running his hand up and down her arm and kissing her fingers where her wedding rings have been taken off.

"But I'm scared," she whispers, clutching onto his hand for dear life. Tobias can see the way that she visibly trembles and shivers. She's petrified, and he doesn't blame her. One minute they were sitting in bed, and the next they're here, with Tris being cut open. He feels like kicking or punching something, but knows that he has to keep it together for her. He regrets letting her see him break down when the doctor ran through everything that was going wrong with the delivery. It's the first time Tris has seen him properly cry - shoulders shaking and everything - in the whole seven years that they've known each other. _But he can't lose her_, he just won't allow it.

"So am I," he murmurs in her ear. "But that's okay. We'll get through it together. Take deep breaths at the same time as I do."

Tris nods her head tightly, watching the way he breathes in and out deeply, attempting to mimic it. He slides an arm underneath her neck and wraps it around her shoulders, attempting to support her physically as well as emotionally.

"You're completely numb now, sweetheart," the nurse kindly says to Tris. "But you're still going to feel an uncomfortable pressure as we get the baby out."

Tris nods her head in understanding, apprehension flitting across her face. Tobias presses his forehead to the side of her head, "You're doing so well," he whispers to her quietly, attempting to get them lost in their own little bubble to avoid the hustle and bustle going on around them. "You're brave."

"I want it to be over," she whines, her small body being tugged and pulled. Tobias quickly glances around the curtain at her lower half and regrets the decision instantly—the bright colour of her blood, which coats the instruments, towel, and the doctor's gloved hands, causes him to feel lightheaded.

"Take the baby to the warming table," the doctor suddenly says in an authoritative voice. Tris and Tobias still, listening for the crying sounds of a baby but unable to hear anything. _Why isn't it crying?_

Another doctor and the midwives are now in the corner of the room, huddled around something covered in goop and blood. Tobias can see one of the midwives' arms moving back and forth, seemingly rubbing on something. And then, a high-pitched wail fills the room, causing their breaths to falter. "Your baby boy is out now, and I've delivered the placenta," the doctor that's still standing over Tris says. She's smiling at them beneath her surgical mask, while still busying herself with the task at hand. "I'm just going to stitch you up while you say hello to your new little one."

"A boy," Tobias murmurs to himself. The midwife walks over to him, carefully placing his crying son in his arms, the boy tightly swaddled in a striped hospital blanket. "Here's Baby Eaton," she says with a warm smile. Tobias gazes down at his newborn's eyes, which are scrunched shut. The new father snuggles him close for a moment, which seems to settle him a little more, then moves to bring their son close to Tris' face for her to kiss.

"Is he alright?" Tobias asks, his eyes a little glossy.

"Yes, in the end everything went smoothly. His heart rate is returning to normal now that he's out, and he's certainly healthy and big enough considering he's only thirty-six weeks. But he obviously takes after you," the midwife says to Tobias, commenting on the baby's large size. It's no wonder that Tris struggled to deliver him naturally.

—0—

The birth of not-so-little Jacob Eaton has left Tris in a bit of a mess, really. Since they attempted a natural - yet assisted – birth, and_ then _followed it up with a caesarian… she has been suffering with the aftermath of both types of deliveries.

They returned home a little more than a week ago after staying in the hospital for a few days. Tris still needs to lie on the sofa for long stretches, wearing an oversized T-shirt and a pair of Tobias' boxer shorts, since the low and tight waistband of her own clothes irritates the new angry scar that draws a line underneath her abdomen.

"How are you feeling?" Tobias asks her, walking into the living room with Jacob cradled in his arms. His facial hair has fully grown in, the hair on his head is messy and long and curly, and like Tris, all he wears are pyjamas.

"Not too bad, things are starting to get a little easier," she says with a small smile.

"Good. Will you be okay alone with him for just a bit? I badly need a shower," he says, sniffing under his arms and scrunching his nose in disgust.

"I'll be fine, Tobias." Tris sighs, giving him a look that that warns him to not wrap her up in cotton wool. He smiles sheepishly, carefully passing the baby down to her and making sure that they're both comfortable.

"If you need me, just shout for me."

"_I'll be fine_, go."

When Tobias finally leaves the living room to jog up the stairs, Tris and the baby are alone in the quiet. They both kind of just lie there, staring dumbly at each other. It's no secret that Jacob has bonded more with Tobias, since he's been the only truly able-bodied one around here due to all the pain and complications Tris has suffered. She hasn't even attempted breastfeeding because at first she was too ill after surgery, and now it's been impossible because she can't have Jacob pressed against her stomach without stabbing pains shooting through her. Although both the nurses and Tobias have assured her that Jacob will be fine with a bottle, she still feels a little guilty.

"I'm gonna be able to lift you up like your daddy does in another couple of weeks," Tris coos to the baby wrapped up in a cream blanket. He looks up at her with big blue eyes and it makes her heart melt. When he was first born, they were the average blue colour that most babies are born with, but now they've started to darken to a stranger shade—deeper than Tris' but less of a navy colour than Tobias'. There are even flecks of brown beginning to surround the black pupils. He's no doubt his father's son, though. His hair is thick and dark brown, and although his skin is light now, Tris and Tobias can both tell that it will darken into an olive shade. "Your hands are going to be the same size as mine in no time at all," Tris laughs quietly, as she presses Jacob's chubby palm against hers. "Maybe I _won't_ be able to carry you."

Tris' smile is obviously contagious, because Jacob seems to be attempting some kind of gummy grin as he stares at her. She runs her thumb across his cheekbone, wanting this moment to last forever.

* * *

**So that's the end of 'part 1' for the bonus content. I ****had to split all the mini chapters up into 2 separate updates because they were so long. The next set of mini chapters should be up in a couple of weeks, and in those you will get to see more of Tris and Tobias actually be parents, be introduced to their second child and get to know the characters of their children a lot better. So, keep following for updates on that. **

**This chapter was hefty and not the easiest, so it took me a long time to write. I would appreciate it if you let me know your thoughts :-) **


	32. Bonus Content 2

**Here's the next instalment of bonus chapters! Just to remind you, like last time, they cover a large time period and I'll put the ages of the characters at the beginning of each chapter so you know where we're at. This next update takes place 7 years after the last, and Tris and Tobias have had another child, Samantha, who was unplanned and a big surprise since they didn't need IVF like they did to have Jacob. **

* * *

Bonus Content Part 2

**Tris:**** Age 32 ****Tobias:**** Age 36 ****Jacob:**** Age 7 ****Samantha:**** Age 2**

Hugs. Jacob loves them. Especially hugs from his dad, who is big enough to completely engulf him in his arms—the safest place to be in the whole world. Whenever it's time to go home from school, he stands on the playground, secretly and eagerly anticipating a hug. Secretly, because the other kids in his class would definitely make fun of him for that. He fails at hiding it from his school teachers, however, who marvel at the way both of the Eaton kids transform into little angels whenever their father is around. Especially Samantha Eaton, who's the new toddler terror at daycare. She's the worst behaved, but also the cutest of all the tots. But as soon as the bell signalling the end of the day rings, she turns into a loveable and cheerful little thing. Suddenly, there's no standoffish behaviour or bad temper in sight because she knows her father's coming to pick her up.

"Hi, Dad," Jacob beams.

"Hey, how was school?" Tobias says, taking Jacob's small backpack and slinging it over his shoulder.

"Good. Got an award in math."

"Really? Well done," he smiles, wrapping his large hand around Jacob's small one. The kid's only seven, but his hand is nearly the same size as Tris's and it won't be long before he's her height, too. He towers above the rest of his classmates, and with his deep golden skin, dark chocolate hair and blue eyes, he's already got a few of the young girls chasing after him. Apparently, they always ask him to play the prince during their dress-up games, which doesn't impress Jacob in the slightest.

The two of them walk through the school yard and around to the daycare centre Samantha goes to every Monday and Tuesday, when both Tris and Tobias are at work. They walk into the centre to find some kids are still playing, but Sam is nowhere to be seen. "Mr. Eaton?" A light voice calls out. Jacob and Tobias turn around to see a young daycare assistant jogging up to them from the other end of the room.

"Yeah?" Tobias says, his heart thudding, because _what on earth has Sam done this time?_

"We've got Samantha in the bathroom. She's had a bit of an accident."

Tobias thought 'a bit of an accident' meant that his kid had peed on herself or something, but no. Of course, things couldn't be that simple. So now he's standing in the bathroom, facing a pink child. That's right, _pink_. Sam has completely painted herself with pink paint. She's looking up at him with familiar dark navy eyes, biting her lip. Her light brown wavy hair is covered, her delicate skin is covered, and so are her clothes. "Oops," she says quietly, before breaking out in a massive grin. Tobias can't help it; he smiles back. He quickly drags a hand over his face in order to disguise his smile, since the daycare assistants don't find the predicament humorous. They don't find Sam's behaviour humorous at all, actually, and it seriously vexes Tris and Tobias. The daycare staff constantly suggest that the toddler has some form of attention or hyperactivity disorder, yet don't do anything to help matters.

"What happened?" Tobias asks the two young assistants hesitantly, ignoring the fact that they are checking him out. Unfortunately, he's used to it. The mothers and teachers gawk shamelessly at him whenever he comes to pick the kids up, and even though it pisses Tris off, Tobias just ignores it.

"You can clearly see what happened. She wanted to paint herself."

"Couldn't you clean it off her?"

"That's not our job. We would have called you to pick her up if she'd done it early on, but it only just happened about half an hour ago."

"Right," Tobias sighs, with Jacob giggling next to him.

"I want up!" Sam proclaims, toddling up to Tobias with her arms outstretched, and making grabby hands at him.

"We have some plastic table covers you can borrow for your car," one of the assistants suggests. "And we could cover her car seat in cling wrap if you like?"

"Yeah, sounds good."

So, a few of them all head over to his car. One of the senior daycare assistants makes a comment about Tobias's fancy car, and says she hopes the paint will come out of the cream leather seats. He grits his teeth, refusing to make a comment like _"Have you ever heard of wet wipes?"_ They could have at least cleaned her up a little. "Itchy," Sam starts to whine, a dissatisfied look on her face as she starts to scratch the drying paint covering her arms.

"Don't touch it, Bug," Tobias says, stopping her hand. "We'll wash it off when we get home."

The lot of them successfully protect the car with plastic, but by the time the three of them get home, Sam is having a full-blown meltdown because of how much the dry paint on her skin is bothering her. He curses at the state of his designer suit jacket and carries her into the house on his hip, droplets of pink dotting his white shirt from her tears. "What the hell happened?" Tris exclaims when he walks into the kitchen.

"Sammy painted herself pink," Jacob says, wrapping his arms around Tris's waist and pressing his face against her stomach.

"Dad!" Sam wails. "Off!"

"Yeah, I know, we'll get it off now," he says, rolling his eyes at Tris before leaning in for a kiss. "We're switching daycare places, by the way."

"Did they leave her like this all day?" Tris asks, both of them walking upstairs to put Sam in the bath.

"They said she did it half an hour before I came to pick her up, but they clearly can't be bothered to look after her properly."

"We'll talk about it later."

Their anger towards the daycare staff is soon forgotten as Sam splashes around in pink water and Jacob stands next to the bath, handing her his favourite floating toys. Tobias sits on the floor, his ruined suit jacket and shirt discarded as he soaps her up and works the paint out of her hair. Tris stands in the doorway, watching the exchange with a contented smile on her face. Times like these cause her to feel a kind of euphoric happiness only achieved by being around her family.

—0—

"When's Dad coming home?" A very fed-up Jacob asks Tris, who's multitasking by cooking dinner and watching Sam.

"Soon, I promise. He just got held up at work."

"But I want him to play video games with me," he whines.

"I know, Jacob. But if he didn't work hard then he wouldn't be able to buy you all those video games," Tris reasons, in one of her many attempts to make her children understand the value of money and hard work. But at the end of the day, kids will be kids. Jacob is pretty tech-savvy like Tobias, so even though they always encourage outdoor play, he's pretty much glued to a screen throughout the harsher winter months, especially when Tobias is working overtime.

It's nearly seven by the time the three of them hear a car coming up the driveway. Just in time, too, since Sam has gotten tired and fussy waiting up for him. Both kids run up to Tobias as soon as he's through the doorway, one clinging onto each leg. Tris can tell he's stressed out by the bags under his eyes, the messily tousled hair from running his fingers through it, and the way that his top shirt button is undone with a loosened tie and untucked shirt. "Hey," she says hesitantly, walking up to him for a kiss.

"Hey," he murmurs back, dropping his forehead onto the top of her head. "I'm tired."

"I can tell," she pulls away from him, taking his bag and keys. "Why don't you put Sam to bed while I finish dinner? The kids have already eaten."

"I want you to play video games with me," Jacob pipes up as he watches Tobias pick Sam up and walk over to the stairs.

"Yeah, I will do that, buddy, after I've put Sam in bed," he musters up his best smile, but he's so shattered that it still looks pretty halfhearted. And when he tucks an already asleep Sam into her bed, he seriously contemplates crawling in there with her and sleeping for a week. But alas, he's a husband and a father of two, so he has to jog down the stairs and crawl across the living room carpet to poke Jacob's back in order to elicit a fit of laughter and entertain him. Besides, Tris works hard as a child psychologist, so he's sure she's just as worn out as he is. He lies on the carpet on his side, next to Jacob, who's sitting cross-legged with the game remote in his hands. Instead of joining in with the game, Tobias rubs circles on Jacob's back, his eyelids drooping heavily until Tris comes in with a steaming plate of spaghetti.

"Tobias," she whispers, prodding his legs with her foot. He quickly blinks his eyes open fully, yawning deeply before sitting up. He shuffles over to the sofa, and Tris places a cushion on his knee with the plate on top.

"Thank you," he says to her earnestly, sliding his hand to the back of her neck and pulling her lips towards his. He kisses her deeply, partly because of the fact that he's so appreciative of her, and partly because he's too sleepy to care that Jacob is right in front of them. She bats his hand away, though, when he goes to grab her ass, shooting him a warning look before checking to see if Jacob is still engrossed in the video game. She smirks, because no matter where they are or who they're with, Tobias can always successfully get her worked up with just a slight touch of his fingers or his mouth against her skin. "You had yours?" He asks her innocently, as if the brief exchange never even happened.

"Yeah, with the kids. Sorry, I was too starved to wait."

"No problem," he smiles, patting the space on the sofa next to him. Tris curls up by his side, her head on his shoulder as he eats his dinner.

"Don't overwork yourself, Tobias," she whispers quietly.

"It's just these next few weeks. I can handle it."

"But the kids can't," she says sternly. "They miss you. Especially Jacob, he kept asking for you today."

"Did he?" Tobias says, frowning. The last thing he wants is to become another Marcus, a father who was never there for his kid.

"Yes, he did. And look at you…you look like you could collapse any minute."

"Tris, I'm fine."

"You're not. When was the last time you went to the gym?"

"The gym?" He nearly chokes on his spaghetti. "Are you trying to say that I'm getting fat or something?"

"No, of course not," Tris sighs. "I mean, you're still muscular…but it's not about your physique. It's that I don't want you to get…you know…too pent up."

"You know I'm not like that anymore," he says.

"Yes, because you've always managed it by going to the gym regularly and taking it out on the punching bags. I don't want you to stop going and become stressed and overtired and overworked, because we all know that leads to short fuses. Especially with you, because you're someone who struggles with that even when you're not stressed or tired."

"Struggles with what?" Jacob interjects, still moving his thumbs rapidly over the controller. Tobias sighs, frustrated, suddenly put off from his dinner.

"With being tired," Tris tells him. "Your Dad needs his sleep, just like you do."

"I don't want to talk about this right now," Tobias whisper-shouts, handing his plate off to Tris.

"Fine, but it needs addressing at some point before it's too late," she says, walking off into the kitchen.

Tobias stares at Jacob for the rest of the night with gritted teeth and a pit forming in the bottom of his stomach. The thought of not giving his child enough attention not only makes him feel guilty—it kills him. It's one of his worst fears, in fact. "Can he sleep with us?" He murmurs to Tris when they're all tired enough to go to bed.

"Of course," she says, because she knows that he needs this. He needs to feel like he's being a father and not shutting his kid out or leaving him to be lonely. Jacob's already in his pyjamas, but gets super-excited when Tobias says he's allowed to sleep in their bed tonight. Jacob falls asleep with the biggest smile on his face, pressed against Tobias' chest and wrapped in his arms.

* * *

**Tris:**** Age 34 ****Tobias:**** Age 38 ****Jacob:**** Age 9 ****Samantha:**** Age 4**

That conversation in their living room a couple of years back was soon forgotten. They didn't think it mattered, but today they'll find out they were wrong.

It's a busy Saturday morning when it happens. Tris is off getting a massage and Tobias is taking care of the grocery shopping with the kids. Sam's too big to fit in the cart now, so he has her stand in front of him, between his arms, helping to push the shopping cart. It stops her from running away, at least. Jacob traipses around beside them, throwing in things from the list that Tris hastily scribbled out for them this morning. "What's next?" Tobias asks.

"Pasta sauce, and we also need ketchup, which is down there," Jacob says, pointing to the end of the aisle.

"Oh! I'll get it! _Please_," Sam begs, turning around to face her dad and tugging on his arm.

"Fine, one bottle. Come straight back and _don't_ walk around the corner," he says to her sternly. It's only a few feet away, but she can pick up speed quickly when she starts to run, and Tobias doesn't feel like chasing a gangly four-year-old around the store today.

"Got it!" She says giddily, jogging down the aisle in search of a red bottle. Tobias is watching her from his peripheral vision the whole time as he and Jacob pick out which sauces to get.

It's the sound of thudding and shouting that draws their full attention, and Tobias whips his head around to see a tall man towering above Samantha, barking at her. His finger points in her face, and she turns around to look at her dad with a look of desperation. The look on her face is what fuels Tobias's rage past the point of no return. No, it's not even that. It's the words that he hears come out of the man's mouth. "Little shit," he thinks he hears him say. _Let's see how easily he can call her that with my hands wrapped around his throat_, Tobias thinks to himself. His body shakes with anger as he storms over to the end of the aisle where the awful exchange is taking place, with Jacob trying to keep up behind him.

"Sam," Tobias says, pulling her towards and then behind him. She has tears in her eyes, and quickly latches onto Jacob's hand.

"That your kid?" The man asks gruffly. He stinks and has a red nose.

"Yes. What of it?" Tobias says in a deadly quiet voice, squaring his shoulders and looking the asshole dead in the eye.

"The brat got ketchup all over my shirt. Do you know how expensive this is? Do you know how hard it is to get a red stain out of this?"

"Keep talking to my daughter like that and ketchup won't be the only red stain you'll have to get out of your shirt," he stays, stepping closer to the man.

"You threatening me?" The man raises his eyebrows, a smirk on his face.

"That depends. Did you honestly think you could get away with intimidating my daughter?"

"She needed a good telling off. Maybe if you did it yourself other people wouldn't have to do it for you."

"No, what she needs is for dickheads like you to back the fuck off and leave her alone," Tobias says, his voice steadily rising in volume.

"How about _you_ back the fuck off," the man says, shoving Tobias away from him.

"I dare you to shove me like that again," Tobias says with a wild smile on his face. It makes the man wary of Tobias, but not enough to prevent him from pushing the altercation further. Instead, he figures he'll catch him off-guard, and attempts to punch him in the face. Tobias deflects the hit easily; his fighting skills are something that will stay with him for the rest of his life. He grabs the man's wrist, and strikes out with a punch of his own, right to the guy's temple. It's hard…really hard. So hard that the guy is on the floor in seconds, seeing stars, probably. But there's no blood, and it isn't enough for Tobias. His hands clench into tight fists, his muscles contract powerfully, and the veins on his arms look as if they're going to pop out. He takes a couple of steps back, pushing the kids away with the back of his legs. Then he leaps forward, swinging his leg back and kicking the man in the gut. His arms are outstretched on either side of him, balancing his body as he continues to kick with a contorted face and gritted teeth, oblivious to the blood the man coughs up.

"Stop!" Jacob calls out to his dad, wide-eyed, but not with fear. More like shock. Sam is crying her eyes out, terrified because she's never seen the dad that she loves so much act violently, just like the bad guys in movies. Tobias listens to his son, running his fingers through his hair, chest heaving while he pants. The adrenaline is still coursing through his veins, so much so that he can't get a grip on reality yet. He needs Tris. He needs her gentle hands to wrap around him, her soothing voice to calm him down. But she's not here to drag him away right now; instead, there's a security guard approaching.

—0—

Tobias didn't anticipate the harsh slap across the face he received when he walked into the bedroom after coming home from the police station. He stands there in front of her, gobsmacked to say the least. The resounding smack of palm against skin rings through his ears even seconds after being hit, but what really hurts the most are the tears streaking Tris's face.

"How could you be so fucking stupid?" Tris spits at him venomously. "How could you fucking do that?" Tobias doesn't respond. Instead, he continues to stare at her slack-jawed, his eyes blurred. He knows that he has _seriously_ screwed things up this time. "How could you do that to us, Tobias?" She says, pursing her lips to hold in a sob. Tobias's cheek is flaming red where she hit him, and Tris's hand still stings from the impact. "To us…"

"Tris," he croaks, reaching out a hand to pull her towards him.

"Don't touch me!" She cries. "I don't want you to touch me!" She flinches away from him, and he feels like he's swallowed a rock that's dropping deep into his rapidly sinking stomach. He shakes his head, dumbfounded: how can he make this better? "You could have been sent to _prison_, Tobias," Tris talks again, once she's collected herself. "What would I have done then? With two kids and a huge fucking house that I can't afford on my own."

Tobias gulps and looks around the room frantically, his eyes burning, his lip quivering. Then, he whispers, "I didn't mean for-"

"You promised me!" Tris shouts, cutting him off, her voice ragged as she points her finger at him. "You promised me that you wouldn't do this shit anymore! You promised me that you weren't the same guy who started fights and beat up men and dragged me down a hallway! For God's sake, you've already got a criminal record Tobias, _for assault._ Do you realise how lucky you were that they let you go?"

"It wasn't luck, Tris," Tobias says glumly, his heart in pieces after she used the night he pushed her years and years ago against him. "A woman who was standing nearby told the cops that the man was being aggressive towards Sam and that he provoked me and then started the fight. They let me go because technically all I did was defend us."

"That's not what Jacob told me," Tris mutters, folding her arms and sniffling loudly.

"What did he tell you?"

"The truth," she says sharply. "You threatened that man, and then you punched him and kicked him more times than was necessary."

"Tris, it's not-"

"Don't fucking lie to me!" Tris practically screams, before they hear a quiet knock on the bedroom door. They both freeze like statues, breathing heavily, their eyes wide. They almost _never_ bicker in front of their kids—let alone allow them to witness a full-blown screaming match.

"Dad?" A voice says from the other side of the door. Tobias takes in a deep breath, wiping his hand over his face before opening the door to see Jacob standing there. "Sam's crying," he says a little timidly. His eyes are curious as he looks around Tobias to catch sight of Tris standing there in her silk nightdress with a tear-streaked face and bloodshot eyes. It gives him a funny feeling in his stomach and he doesn't like it. He watches as his dad turns around to his mom, who waves a dismissive hand at him before storming off into their bathroom and forcefully slamming the door shut behind her. It makes Jacob jump.

"Come on, let's get back in bed," Tobias says to Jacob, ushering him down the hallway and into his room. He tucks him back in quickly because he can hear Sam's faint whimpers and needs to sort her out, too. He walks out of Jacob's bedroom and around the U-shaped hallway with haste. The staircase is in the middle, so there's quite a distance that separates his and Tris's bedroom from the kids'. It makes hearing Sam cry in the night difficult, so they're used to Jacob coming to their room to wake them up and tell them when she does. It happens often; if she's not wetting or falling out or refusing to stay in the bed then she's crying and screaming in it. Kids.

It's usually bad dreams caused by fairytales or stories about monsters under the bed that upset her. This time, however, Tobias has a feeling that _he's_ the cause of her nightmares. When he gets to her room, Samantha is sitting upright, her face blotchy and red, tears running down her cheeks. She holds her slender arms out when her dad walks in, and Tobias takes this as a good sign. At least she's not afraid of him.

"What's wrong?" He asks her, getting a tissue and wiping her nose.

"Bad dream," she manages to get out between chokes and sobs. Tobias unclips and takes off her bed guard, which stops her from rolling out in her sleep, and plunks it down on the floor. He hooks his arms under her, moving her over to the other side of the bed so that he can slide in. He looks stupid and far too big for this pink toddler bed, but he'd do just about anything to stop her crying. She lies on top of his chest, curled into a ball, her favourite blanket draped over her.

"Was it about what happened today?" Tobias asks, and Sam nods her head. "I'm sorry for scaring you. But that man that shouted at you was mean and made Daddy _really_ angry."

"He was scary," Sam sniffles.

"I know, but I won't let anyone scare you like that again, okay?" He says, and again, Sam nods her head, this time taking in a breath. Tobias knows that the promise he just made didn't just refer to strange men in supermarkets, but also to himself. He won't ever act like that and scare his kids again.

So he makes another promise to her, the same promise that he made to Tris what feels like a lifetime ago—that he'll fight her bad dreams off with his bare hands. It's a bittersweet and faded memory, reminding him of how fast time is flying. Sam soon falls asleep, her little fingers fisted into his shirt. He breathes in the scent of her watermelon shampoo until he begins to feel himself doze off. He can't sleep in here with her tonight, though, since he smells like the jail cell and will probably disturb her with all the tossing and turning he's bound to do. He manages to slide out of bed without waking her, quietly securing her bed guard back in place before setting up the old baby monitor they use when she's sick. He creeps back down the hallway, briefly checking on Jacob to see if he's gotten back to sleep. Tobias knows that he's got a lot of explaining to do to his son, but that will have to wait until tomorrow. He gets back to his bedroom, and can see the shape of Tris cocooned in the quilt. He's just taken his pillows and blanket away from the bed, preparing to sleep on the sofa, when Tris turns around and looks at him with red eyes. "I don't want you to sleep downstairs," she whispers, her voice wavering and waterlogged. Tobias gazes at her with sadness before nodding his head slightly and pulling off his jeans and T-shirt. He slides into bed next to her, a little unsure, and Tris turns over fully to face him. "I'm sorry for yelling at you like that," she says.

"Please don't apologise to me, Tris," he says. "You were right, I was wrong. What I did was stupid and idiotic. I don't deserve an apology."

"You deserve my understanding." Tris shuffles closer to him, lifting up his arm and draping it over her body. Tobias holds her close. He feels her tears trickle onto the skin of his chest, and lets a few of his own slip into her hair.

What Tobias did was wrong, they all know that. But they also know that it's human nature to make mistakes and sometimes do bad things, so they have to work it out. Together, as a family. It's the way it's always been and always will be.

* * *

**Tris:**** Age 36 ****Tobias:**** Age 40 ****Jacob:**** Age 11 ****Samantha:**** Age 6**

The rush hour traffic pisses Tris off to no end. She's had a shit day at work, spilled coffee all over her skirt, and feels dead on her feet. To top it all off, she's had to sit in her car for a whole hour. Relief floods her veins when she gets to press the button for the automatic gate to their house. It's like opening the doors to her own little sanctuary. She stretches up over the steering wheel slightly as she drives her car up the inclined driveway, looking out for any plant pots or bushes because she's never been good at driving in smaller spaces. This car is definitely too big for her, but Tobias won't listen. When she talks about getting a smaller car now that the kids are older he brushes her off, making some remark about how four-by-fours are safer. She runs both hands down her face when she shuts the engine off, lazily grabbing her purse from where it sits on the passenger seat. She's only barely just gotten the key in the lock when two large hands grab her by the waist, the door slamming shut behind her.

"Tobias!" Tris gasps, but it turns to a moan when his hot, wet lips kiss her neck, her jaw, and eventually her mouth. His hands are firm and dominant as he pushes her against the door and lifts her up. Her legs lock around his waist like when she was a teenager, and her skirt rides up enough for the tops of her thigh-high, black lace stockings to show. Tobias hums against her silky skin, his beard scruff giving her goosebumps when it brushes against her. "Stop…the kids…" she manages to get out between her heavy breathing and lightly pushes him away, even though it takes every inch of her being to do so.

Tobias looks at her earnestly, a sweet smile on his face. "They're gone for a couple of hours. Jacob's at football practice and Sam is staying at Katie's house for dinner." Then he resumes his gentle kisses, which are juxtaposed against the firm grip of his fingers on Tris's thighs. "So we've got some alone time," he murmurs.

"Tobias," Tris sighs, kissing him back, but only with a closed mouth.

"What is it?"

"I'm tired, I stink, I'm covered in coffee…not to mention the fact that I don't even remember the last time I got waxed."

"Do you really think I care about whether you've been waxed to look like a porn star or not?" Tobias laughs disbelievingly. They've had two kids together for God's sake; she could sport a 70's bush full-time and it wouldn't deter him in the slightest. "It's been weeks since we got some time to ourselves and…I want you, Tris."

"I want you, too," Tris grins mischievously, biting her lip as she looks up at him from under her lashes and wraps her arms more firmly around him. Her grin is contagious, and Tobias makes some kind of guttural growling noise as he splays his fingers and grabs her ass firmly. They need to get things going quickly if they plan on making a success of this, so Tobias pulls Tris away from the door and carries her up the stairs swiftly.

"Remember, you don't have to be quiet," Tobias whispers in her ear as he lays her down on the bed. Tris squirms underneath him in response, peeling her coffee-soaked skirt away from her body as Tobias gets up to lock the bedroom door. She's suddenly _so_ thankful for the fact that she hasn't done her own laundry in a week, and as a result, this morning she was forced to wear a provocative, black lace lingerie set that she bought for Valentine's Day a couple of years ago. It's skimpy and tight and has irritated her all day, but when Tobias turns around and gets that look of awe in his eyes, her discomfort suddenly seems to have been worthwhile. His shirt and tie are on the floor in seconds, and he's crawling up their four-poster bed to rest his head in-between her legs. Since they're a little short for time, he does just enough to tease her— gentle, wet kisses around her thighs and abdomen, the firm pressure of his hand and expert movement of his wrist, and lastly, the way his fingers drag against her skin as he removes the stockings.

"Hurry up," Tris gasps when he's finally got her naked. Her face is flushed pink and her chest heaves with want. When he moves into her he clasps her face in both his palms, his eyes skimming over every inch of her face before he rests his forehead against hers. _The look of love_, Tris knows. She smiles to herself with a sense of relief that comes from being so close to him, hooking her legs over his thighs and running her fingers through his hair. Eventually, he uses one forearm to prop himself up and grips the headboard with the other, his jaw and lips slack, and with a look of ecstasy on his face as he moves faster and harder. Tris is about to giggle at his sex face until she suddenly feels the tension build up within her from the way his pelvis is pressed and moving against hers. It starts from deep at the source, and then gradually spreads throughout her whole body until her mouth freezes wide open, her eyes scrunch shut and her head tips back. Her back is completely arched up from the bed when she moans loudly and repetitively with her release, calling Tobias' name a little louder than necessary, and taking full advantage of the fact that it's just them in the house. Her body goes slack when it's over, her heart thudding noticeably as Tobias continues to strive for his own finish. She wants him to come quickly because she feels a little too sensitive after her intense orgasm, so she nips and licks his ear and kisses his neck until his hips thrust erratically and he grunts her name.

"Fuck," Tobias mutters once they're both lying side-by-side.

"That's one word for it. I love you so much, you know?" Tris says, rolling over on her side to run her fingers through the fine hairs on his chest. "I'll never get tired of you."

"Well, that's good to hear," he laughs, pulling her to lie against his chest. "Because I love you, too. Always have, always will."

Tris smiles to herself, nuzzling closer against him. She remembers a time when Tobias was tight-lipped and never spoke freely about feelings or love. But now they've learnt that life is short and they don't want to waste any time beating around the bush.

—0—

Barbie dolls and Legos and little plastic animal thingies are more like weapons than toys when Tobias accidentally steps on them with sock-clad feet. "Samantha Eaton, come here!" He shouts, looking around her room where World War Three seems to have hit.

Sam is downstairs playing on her dad's tablet—which she isn't actually allowed to use—when she hears her full name being called. She cringes, carefully closing the case of the tablet and slipping it back into his briefcase. Sam thinks that her dad will never found out that she used it, but he will. He always does.

Tobias hears her jogging up the stairs, and when she gets to the room, he notices she's got some kind of brown stain on her green T-shirt. He knows she's probably been rooting around in the snack cupboard in the kitchen. Now that she's tall enough to climb up onto a chair and get to it, they're constantly having to watch her. "What were you up to?" He asks her, eyebrows raised.

"Nothin'," she says, panting a bit from running up the stairs and tucking her light brown hair behind her ear.

"Well, your room is a mess and you need to tidy up," Tobias says, his voice softer because he could never shout at her to her face. She's petite-framed like Tris, but with long, lanky legs and beady, dark blue eyes.

"But if I tidy up, I won't be able to play with it all," she says simply.

"You don't need it all out at once. You can play with one thing at a time."

"_But Dad_," she whines, looking at him with puppy dog eyes.

"No buts," Tobias says with finality. He walks into her closet and reaches up to the top shelf to get her suitcase down. This weekend they're going back to Chicago, to visit some family that still lives there. "Start cleaning up now, Sam."

"What can I take with me?" She asks as she watches him flick through her wardrobe, pulling out warmer clothes and socks and underwear.

"You still have toys at your grandma's house," Tobias says. _Toys, toys, toys._ It's all he ever hears these days. Sam has all kinds of toys. Since she can be so hyperactive, they keep buying her things to try and keep her entertained when they have to work. "Where did you put your sunscreen?" He asks when he notices it isn't on the little shelf. Sam shrugs in response, pretending to be focused on putting her dolls away neatly. Tobias walks up to her, and takes one of her arms in his hand. She grins sheepishly, pulling away from him because she knows exactly what she's done. "Have you been wiping it off?" He quizzes, only now noticing how tanned her skin tone is—it's nearly as olive as his own.

"Nope," she says mischievously, and Tobias knows instantly that she's lying. It's hot where they live, with the sun beating down heavily on them pretty much all day. They cover Sam in sunscreen every morning, but on more than one occasion she's snuck into the bathroom to wash it off because she hates how sticky it is. Just as he's about to give her another lecture, they hear Tris come through the front door and Sam goes bounding down the stairs in order to greet her. Tobias continues to get all the suitcases packed, somewhat eager to be visiting their hometown.

—0—

The kids are ratty from the car journey, and the city is more packed than usual because of the good weather. They decided to come out with Tris's mom because there were a few things that they needed to buy, but now it's turning out to be a bad idea. Sam is restless, being carried around by Tobias because she keeps trying to run off, and Jacob is bored out of his mind because he _hates_ shopping. Tris and Tobias actually wanted to come into the city today to buy Jacob's birthday present without his knowledge. So about halfway through the trip, Tobias and Natalie suggest splitting off from the group so that they can surreptitiously get the gift. This means that Tris is stuck with the kids, though, and she's counting down the minutes because Sam is being such a handful. "Sam, hold onto my and Jacob's hands and don't let go, alright?" Tris says to her firmly.

"Okay," she says, trying to swing off the two of them. A few minutes later, they walk past the bookstore Tris used to always visit when she lived at home, and she's more thankful than ever to see it. It's not packed with people like the rest of the city, so she ushers the kids inside and lets out the deep breath she had been holding.

"Mom, I think they have the textbook here that I need for school," Jacob says, pointing to the other end of the store.

"Oh, that's lucky, let's go and take a look."

"But I wanna look at _those_ books," Sam pipes up, tugging on Tris's hand in an attempt to pull her towards the colourful kids' section.

"We will do that, Sam, but we just need to get Jacob's book first because it's important."

"No, I wanna look at it now," Sam starts to whine, and Jacob rolls his eyes because he knows that a temper tantrum is on the horizon—it's been brewing all day.

"You can't, we need to get Jacob's book first. But then we'll come straight back and look at your books," Tris bargains, but knows that it's useless. Sam starts to pull on Tris's hand, and nearly works her way out of her grip. Soon, the girl is going to be stronger than her. Even though she looks skinny, she's boisterous like Tobias and is sometimes too much of a handful for Tris to manage on her own.

"I don't wanna," she wails, her face contorted as she tries desperately to run away. Jacob stands there awkwardly, his little sister embarrassing him in public…yet again.

"Samantha, if you carry on like this I'm going to call your dad and tell him to come back here right this second," Tris warns. Her threat of 'If you don't behave then I'll tell your dad' always works. Even if it pisses Tris off that her own child won't listen to her, she has to use it sometimes. She's thankful that at least one of her children- Jacob- inherited her calmer personality. Sam stops pulling instantly, sniffling and wiping her nose. She wraps her arms around Tris's waist in some kind of silent apology, and walks over to Jacob to hold his hand instead. Just as the three of them are about to turn around and head off to get Jacob's textbook, Tris hears her old name being called.

"Tris Prior?" A light voice says, and Tris looks around in search of the speaker. When she sees who called her, her heart drops into her stomach like a rock. She looks at the tattoos on the woman's arm for confirmation, because Lynn can't possibly be standing in front of her right now after all these years.

"Lynn?" Tris asks, disbelievingly. The woman nods her head, grinning from ear to ear. "Oh my God," she mutters.

"Mom just swore!" Sam points out, giggling.

"These your kids?" Lynn asks in wonder, looking around Tris to gawk at the pair that look so much like Tobias Eaton himself. All Tris can do is nod her head weakly, a little too dumbfounded to do anything else. "Are they Tobias's?"

"Yes…we've been married for thirteen years," Tris says quietly.

"Wow. So it's Tris Eaton, then. The kids are the spitting image of him, aren't they? Except the boy's got your smile," she grins at Jacob.

"I know…uh…this is Jacob," Tris nods to the eleven year old. "And this is Samantha," she says, bringing Sam to stand in front of her. "Kids, this is my friend Lynn from when I was growing up in Chicago." The two of them nod their heads somewhat shyly.

"You're very lucky," Lynn says. "Where's Tobias?"

"Oh, he's just gone shopping with my mom to buy something," Tris mutters, remembering that what they've gone to buy is a secret gift for Jacob. "H-how have you been, Lynn?"

"I'm great, actually. I'm married, too; her name is Sue. I met her at my art show a few years ago, and we hit it off instantly."

"That's good…so you're still doing your art?"

"Yeah, I've got displays at a few galleries, and I'm also selling paintings."

"That's really great."

"Yeah...uh, listen, I've got to get back home now. But it was really nice seeing you, Tris. I'm thankful that you're happy." Lynn says, leaning in to wrap her arms around Tris's stiff frame. "And I'm sorry, you know, that I just stopped writing to you. I had to kind of drop everything in order to move on-"

"I understand," Tris smiles. "And I'm glad that things have worked out for you."  
Lynn nods her head, "You're blessed with beautiful children," she says. "You really deserve it all."  
Tris is about to say thank you, but Lynn is quick with her departure. She continues to stand there in shock for a moment, feeling like she's almost in a dream. There were so many things she wanted to say to Lynn if she ever saw her again, but none of it would come out. Perhaps that's the way it's always been meant to be.

That night, Tris lies in bed, wide awake. The encounter with Lynn shook her up—something more than just a blast from the past. It's strange how when she was an eighteen year old, she thought her life pretty much revolved around her friendship with Lynn. But then she met Tobias, the love of her life, her soul mate, and he changed her path forever. She thinks over how much they've grown together, how much things have changed. Their wedding day, their adventures, their children. They've created two human beings, watched them both learn how to walk and talk and develop their own characters that they love so much. And throughout it all, they've always had each other. Tris knows that all good things come to an end, that none of us will last forever. But she knows that she and Tobias will live out their own little version of _forever_, and she's so grateful for that. Grateful for him, for what he's given her, and for what he's shared with her. Neither of them would trade any of it for the world.

* * *

**Hope you all enjoyed the chapter and that it was worth the wait! It took me a while to write, and also _BK2U_ spent a lot of her time editing it, so your thanks and thoughts would be appreciated!**

**:-)**


End file.
